Oneshots 2
by Frisco
Summary: This is the second collection of stories - some written for challenges on LiveJournal and others by request or just because. Each chapter is a standalone story. WARNING: Spoilers for all seasons including S5.
1. Right Field

_A/N (1): Welcome! This is my second collection of one-shots. Each chapter stands alone. Spoilers will be noted in advance (see below). The stories will range from a few hundred words to several thousand and will include different characters and genres. So, pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee, and join me. Don't be afraid to say hello. Hope you enjoy. Let's get started!_

_A/N (2): Contains a quote from Search and Rescue at the beginning but otherwise no spoilers._

**Right Field**

"_Well, just underhand him, alright? I've never been good at baseball." __Rodney McKay, Search and Rescue_

Rodney plopped in the dark pink wingback chair with a huff. His parents had dumped him and Jeannie with Grandma for the summer. Again. Just so they could spend a little more time teaching. To be honest, Grandma's house was kinda nice – homemade cookies, snowcones at the corner stand, and, though he'd never admit to liking it, lots of hugs. She oohed and aahed over all his inventions and looked him in the eye when he spoke, really listening. But there wasn't much to do at her house. She lived in a small town, didn't get many television channels, and his parents wouldn't let him bring his chemistry set or his encyclopedias. And how was he supposed to perfect his piano playing without a piano? Eleven was definitely a tough age.

Jeannie bounced on the sofa, blond pigtails flying as she squeezed her stuffed Albert Einstein. "What's wrong, Mer?"

"I'm starving," he moaned, his mouth watering as the scent of baking cookies wafted in from the kitchen. "And how many times have I told you to call me Rodney?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Sorry, _Meredith_. I forgot," she sneered, bouncing once on her butt and hopping to her feet.

Eight year olds were completely immature. His sister was the spawn of Satan. "Shut up," he snapped.

"You shut up."

"Children," Grandma interrupted, dusting her hands on her apron, "we don't speak that way in my house. Apologize. Now."

"Sorry, Mer."

Rodney narrowed his eyes and crossed his fingers. "Sorry," he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Grandma arched a brow at him, not fooled in the least. "The first batch of cookies is ready if you'd like some."

"Yippee!" Jeannie cried as she dashed toward the kitchen, pulling Rodney's hair on her way by.

"Ow!" he yelped. "Grandma, did you see that?"

Grandma smoothed a soft, plump hand over the offended spot. "She's your baby sister, Meredith. She idolizes you."

"She terrorizes me."

A thumb stroked gently across his cheek. "Only to get your attention. She loves you, wants to be just like you. Try being nice." She patted his face and smiled. "Now, a cookie?"

"Can I have more than one?" he asked as he slipped his hand in hers and snuggled close since no one was watching.

"Of course. You may have as many as you like."

Rodney climbed up on the barstool, spinning once before snatching three gooey chocolate chip cookies. He crammed one in his mouth and dropped the other two in the small plate in front of him when she handed him a tall glass of milk. He chugged half of it, relishing the mix of cold liquid with warm sweetness. Grabbing another cookie, he bit in and slowly pulled it away, watching the chocolate string and reminding himself to determine which chemical properties made it do that.

"What do you kids want to do today?" Grandma asked as she put the rest of the dough in the refrigerator.

"Swim!" Jeannie crowed. "Can we go to the pool?"

Rodney stared at her in disbelief. "The pool? Are you crazy? Do you know how much radiation the sun puts out? Over a-"

"Meredith," Grandma said sternly, "there's nothing wrong with swimming. It's good for you. And we'll put on sunscreen."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't want to swim."

"Then what do you want to do, honey?"

"But, Grandma," Jeannie whined, "I wanna swim."

"You can swim, sweetheart. We just need to find something your brother wants to do."

"He doesn't like to do anything except play the piano and blow things up. Momma said-"

"It doesn't matter what your mother said right now. Run upstairs and change into your swimsuit." When Jeannie scampered off, Grandma turned to him, capturing his gaze. "What do you want to do?" she repeated.

Rodney bit his lip. He loved his grandmother more than anyone else, and he didn't want to be difficult, but he couldn't think of a single thing. "I don't know," he sighed.

"My poor Meredith. You do know it's okay to be a little boy, don't you?"

"I- I-" He'd never really considered it. Momma had insisted he learn to be responsible so he had to take care of Jeannie when they came home from school and make their lunches and help her with her schoolwork.

Grandma's mouth settled in a grim line. "That's what I thought." She shook her head, muttering something he didn't understand about unfeeling ice queens. "I believe I've seen a few of the neighborhood boys playing baseball in the corner lot. I still have one of your dad's old gloves."

"Dad played baseball?" His dad? The man who spent all of his time with someone else's kids?

"He sure did." Grandma smiled fondly as her eyes lost focus. "He would leap out of bed every Saturday morning and run to that lot. Most days he played through lunch. I'd have to go get him for dinner."

"What made him stop?"

Her smile dimmed. "I guess he got too busy with school. He forgot to live."

Well, _that_ hadn't changed. Still, it might be cool to use his dad's glove, to have something in common – just the two of them. Rodney knew the basic rules of baseball, had watched the boys at school play. From a distance, of course. He glanced up as a beat-up, cracked brown leather glove with threadbare webbing landed next to his right hand.

Grandma smoothed one hand over his hair and held Jeannie's with the other. "The boys should already be there. Have fun."

Jeannie pulled her hand away. "Where are you going, Mer?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and waved the glove at her. "Hello? To play baseball with the other kids."

"Can I come?"

"I thought you wanted to swim," Grandma said.

Jeannie shook her head. "I wanna play baseball."

Grandma squatted down and looked Jeannie in the eye. "You can't play, dear. You're too small. But you can watch if you want."

Jeannie's bottom lip quivered for a second then she nodded solemnly. "I'll watch."

"But-" Rodney's mouth snapped shut when Grandma gave him a pointed look. He shot a glance at Jeannie, surprised to see hope shining in her eyes. Maybe she did want to be like him. A little. "Fine, but you can't go dressed like that." A pink swimsuit with red hearts was not appropriate for the baseball diamond.

Jeannie ran back upstairs while Rodney hunted down his socks and sneakers. By the time he had them properly laced and tied, his sister had bounded back down in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals with the biggest baseball cap he'd ever seen. Red with a logo he didn't recognize, it came down over her ears and slid to her nose.

"Where did you get that cap?" Rodney asked.

"In the closet. Do you want to wear it?"

"No," he snapped. "Can we go now?"

Jeannie nodded vigorously. "I'm ready."

"Then you kids go and have a good time," Grandma said, holding the door open for them.

They waved goodbye and headed out, Rodney carrying the glove protectively in both arms. The sun was warm on his face, and he made an impulsive decision to not worry about the sunscreen he forgot to put on. Birds swooped in the mid-morning sky, and mowers roared, the scent of fresh cut grass and flowers following them down the sidewalk. When they reached the lot they found about a dozen boys cheering and shouting as a skinny red headed boy chased after a ball while a lanky blond rounded second and headed to third, crossing home plate before the ball reached the infield.

Rodney hesitated at the edge of the field, a wave of longing washing over him as the blond boy's team pounded him on the back in congratulations. He'd never had anything like that; no one in school liked working with him because they couldn't keep up, and he'd never deemed athletics worthy of his time. But just once in his life he'd like to know what it felt like to be accepted like that.

"Mer?"

Shaking off that ridiculous thought, he barked, "What?"

"Are you going to play?"

"Of course. I'm just waiting for the end of the quarter; it would be rude to interrupt. Don't you know anything?"

Jeannie smiled smugly. "I know that baseball has innings not quarters."

"I know that," Rodney huffed. "I was testing you."

"Sure you were." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged. "Come on."

Rodney trudged after her as they skirted the field. A chubby kid with a buzz cut stepped up to the plate, and the blond boy cheered him on from the side. A rail-thin boy with dark, stringy hair threw the ball at the batter who swung harder than Rodney had thought possible. The ball zipped through the air, landing several meters behind first base. The red-headed outfielder tore after it as the hitter headed to second, pulling up at the base and panting heavily.

"Way to go, Petey!" Blond Boy shouted.

Petey bent over, hands on knees, and nodded.

"Hey, kid!" Blond Boy called. "You wanna play?"

Jeannie dug a sharp elbow into Rodney's ribs. "He's talking to you."

"I know," Rodney hissed, handing his glove to her and turning to the boy. "Yeah, sure."

When he reached the plate, the boy handed him the bat, a wooden Louisville Slugger that had seen better days.

"What's your name?"

"Rodney," he answered as he gripped the bat handle.

"I'm Scott. You new?"

"Visiting my grandmother."

"Is that your sister?"

Rodney heaved a sigh. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

"Sure." Scott squinted into the sun which was shining brightly behind the pitcher. "Mickey's pitching. He's not throwing hard 'cause of the sun. That piece of cardboard is first base, the big rock that Petey is standing on is second, and third is that tire. Any questions?"

"Who's on what team?"

"We rotate. Eight in the field and five- six now batting. Ready?"

Nodding, Rodney stepped to the plate and hefted the bat to his shoulder, the head immediately dipping below his elbow. Staring at Mickey, he waited for the pitch, ignoring his pounding heart and sweaty palms. He flinched as the ball sailed past.

"Strike!" the catcher called.

"Come on, Mer!" Jeannie hollered. "Get a hit!"

Scott shot him a questioning look. "Mare?"

"Don't pay any attention to her," Rodney muttered.

Focusing on Mickey's hand, he watched the ball all the way in and swung, stumbling as the bat's weight pulled him forward. The bat flew from his hands and landed near third base; face burning, Rodney stomped after it. He wiped his hands on his jeans and dragged the bat back while the catcher cackled and threw the ball to Mickey.

"You'd better toss it underhand to this kid, Mick. He won't be able to hit it otherwise."

"Shut up, Eli," Scott warned the catcher. "Try choking up on the bat, Rodney." Receiving a blank stare, Scott said, "Shift your hands higher. It will help your control."

Rodney did as he suggested, noting the better balance. He clenched his jaw as laughter carried when Mickey wound up and lobbed the ball underhanded. It arced, and Rodney's arms vibrated from his fingertips to his shoulders when he made contact. The hit wasn't much, a slow roller to third, but he hit it.

"Go, Meredith!" Jeannie screamed. "Run!"

Dropping the bat, he dashed toward first, feeling proud until a voice called, "That's three!" His shoulders slumped as he watched the third baseman console Petey who glared across the field at Rodney after being tagged out.

"Way to go, _Meredith_," Petey taunted. "Did your parents name-"

"Knock it off, Petey. And next time, don't run unless it's a force play," Scott growled, jogging toward Rodney. "Don't worry about it. Grab your glove and head to right field."

Eyes to the ground, Rodney hurried toward Jeannie who gave him a bright smile along with his glove. "You hit it!"

He grunted noncommittally and turned to view the field. "Is right field behind first base?"

Head bobbing and cap covering her eyes, Jeannie answered, "Yep."

He headed to the outfield while Scott called the names of the next round of batters. Reaching right, he positioned himself between first and second base, even with the new centerfielder. The batters huddled together, occasionally glancing Rodney's way. Breaking apart, Eli tapped the bat on the edge of the hubcap designated as home, dug his heels in, and took a few practice swings. Mickey, still pitching, wound up and heaved the ball which landed in Scott's catcher's mitt with an impressive smack.

"Little too high," Scott called, tossing the ball back. "Bring it down some."

Rounding on the next pitch, Eli clobbered it straight at Rodney. Panic choked him, and he jogged forward a few steps only to realize his mistake. Backpedaling quickly, he stretched out his glove and utterly missed. He chased after it, catching up to it as Eli headed to third.

The second baseman waved at him. "Throw it!"

Taking a deep breath, Rodney threw it with all his might, watching in horror as it plopped to the ground a couple of meters in front of him and bounced.

Second Base scowled as Eli scored. "You even throw like a girl," he sneered.

And so the day went. Rodney constantly misjudged the ball when it was hit at him, the centerfielder throwing it in for him, and he never got the ball past the pitcher's mound when he hit which only happened when it was tossed underhanded. Finally, thankfully, mothers began to call the boys home. Grabbing Jeannie's hand, he strode quickly down the sidewalk.

"Mer," Jeannie whined, "slow down." She tugged her hand from his. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just wanna get back to Grandma's before dark."

"You're not a very good liar. It's okay if you aren't good at baseball."

"That's just it." He stopped, glancing back at the ball field in frustration. "I should be."

"Why?" Jeannie asked, jogging after him as he started off again.

"Baseball is all about angles, velocity, force, and statistics. I should be able to put the proper force on the ball. I should be able to accurately judge where it's going to land."

"You sound like Dad."

"What are you on about?"

"Have you ever seen Dad have fun?"

"Fun?"

Jeannie sighed dramatically. "Yes. Baseball is supposed to be fun. So is swimming and coloring and tag and lots of other stuff. You can just play, you know. You don't have to win everything."

"Are you kidding? Everything's about winning."

She shook her head. "Oh, Mer."

"Don't call me that!"

Jeannie glared at him as they reached Grandma's house. "Fine," she huffed, stomping into the house.

Tears pricked Rodney's eyes as he stared at his dad's glove. Ripping it off, he stuffed it in the trash can and followed Jeannie inside. If he couldn't do something well, he didn't want to do it at all. And he never wanted to play baseball again.

* * *

Written for the Search and Rescue challenge on sgadetailsfic. Many thanks to kristen999 and leesaperrie for the beta. All faults mine.


	2. Aftermath

_A/N: Spoilers through S4's Lifeline_

**Aftermath**

God, he had a headache.

John shuffled across the bridge from Elizabeth's office to the control room on his way to staff meeting, laptop in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. If the IOA took much longer to choose a replacement, he was going to resign his commission and take the El'ris up on their offer to become royal chauffeur. He squinted at his watch, frowning as his eyes took their sweet time to focus. Ten minutes. He shivered when he entered the conference room; it was absolutely frigid. Afraid icicles would form on his nose, he leaned out the door and caught Chuck's eye.

"It's freezing in here. Can you fix that?"

"Sorry, sir," Chuck replied. "Environmental controls are on the fritz today."

John closed his eyes in defeat. "Of course they are. Just… see what you can do."

He massaged his forehead with two fingers as he fell into his chair with a sigh. Repairs weren't going fast enough. As soon as one system was fixed, another would go down. After opening his laptop, he scrolled through email – all seven hundred and forty-six messages of doom – until the others arrived. Lorne was first, of course. With a crisp nod and a "Good morning, Sir," he took his normal seat on the right, closest to the door. Teyla was behind him, sending a warm smile John's way before sitting on his left. One by one, they filled the room: Zelenka, Keller, Ronon, and, finally, Rodney.

"Nice of you to join us, McKay."

Rodney plopped into the only seat left with a _hmmph_, managing to balance a muffin on top of a 'Physicists do it in Four Dimensions' mug on top of his tablet. "We've got a few things going on, in case you haven't heard."

"Oh, I've heard," John said. "And smelled and tasted. Since you're last to the party, why don't you start?"

Crumbs dribbled from the corner of McKay's mouth as he chewed. "Repair crews are working as fast as they can. Most of the unstable areas have been shored up, and about a third of the demolished structures have been rebuilt. We're expecting another construction crew from Midway later today. The Daedalus is on its way with the materials needed to rebuild the portions of the city damaged by asteroids. I've got science teams in every part of the city working to replace leaking power conduits." He took a big gulp of coffee. "And before you say it, yes, I've noticed the system glitches. The wiring in this place is a bit old, and it didn't take kindly to slamming into the ocean."

John rolled his eyes. "You've really got to let that go, McKay. Lorne?"

"Yes, Sir. I estimate that we've covered about half the city so far, but going room by room can be a challenge in some of the outer regions. I had Hollister send the notes and photos to Dr. Zelenka."

"Which I received," Radek said. "Thank you very much, Major. Knowing how much damage each piece of equipment has suffered helps us determine which tools and parts to take with us when we begin repairs."

"The men are ready to get back out there, Sir," Lorne said with a nod in the direction of the gate. "Say the word."

John chuckled tiredly. "I wish. But I need the city in working order first. Keep at it, Major. Dr. Keller?"

"We're seeing increased traffic in the infirmary. It's primarily the construction crews, but several of the scientists have come in with electrical burns, and a few of the Marines are, ah, getting a little cabin fever."

"That's not too surprising. Maybe some advanced combat training will cure it. Ronon?" At Ronon's wolfish smile and nod, John turned back to Keller. "How are your supplies?"

"We're good. The blood drive last week definitely helped, and when the Daedalus arrives, I'll sign them up, too. The SGC is keeping us well stocked in everything else."

John winced slightly as pain stabbed like an ice pick through his right eye. He covered it by rolling a shoulder then turned to Teyla. "How are the Athosians?"

"Very well. Our harvest will be more fruitful than it has been in many years. I expect Halling in the next few days with the first of the _melnas_."

Rodney perked up. "Are those the purple berries?"

"Yes. I have already asked Darek to make the pastry you love so much."

"That's the best news I've had in… weeks." McKay's face grew serious as his gaze dropped to the table.

"Any word?" Ronon asked, breaking the deafening silence.

"No." John scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "The IOA refuses to let me begin a search. If there wasn't so damn much going on here…." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, we'll have a new commander soon enough, I hope. Going after Elizabeth will be my first request."

Teyla turned to face him fully. "Do we know who the new commander will be?"

He blew out an exasperated breath. "Not yet. They are 'reviewing all the candidates' according to Landry. Then he reminded me how slowly the IOA moves."

"If I may," Zelenka ventured, raising a finger, "I have one bit of good news. Long range sensors indicate the war between the Wraith and the Replicators continues. We noted the destruction of another hive yesterday."

"That is good news." John felt a genuine smile tug at his mouth. "Okay, kids. Keep doing what you're doing. Major, I'd like to see duty rosters for the next two weeks and preliminary off-world team assignments."

"Yes, Sir."

"Dr. Keller, please forward me a list of the injuries received and how they came about. Radek, based on her report, I'd like you to put together a short safety course for the crews we have rotating through here."

At their nods, John pushed to his feet. "Let's get back to it, then."

As the room emptied, John gathered his belongings, intending to follow Keller when he noticed McKay hanging back. The Tylenol would have to wait.

"Something else, Rodney?"

McKay wouldn't meet his gaze. "Do you really think we'll find her?"

Rodney had wrapped himself in guilt from the instant Elizabeth had run from the back of the jumper. The man refused to give himself a break, no matter how many times they had this conversation. John rarely wished that he was better at this kind of stuff, but these days he would give anything to say the words that would assuage Teyla's grief, Ronon's anger, McKay's self-recrimination…. Hell, if it weren't for the massive amount of repairs needed, he suspected the entire expedition would be curled in a fetal position.

"She's out there, Rodney. She knows we'll come for her."

"It's been almost two months. Do you think she's still alive?"

John leaned a hip against the table, the ever-tightening vise around his head threatening to pulverize his brain. "Until I have proof otherwise, yes. She wouldn't give up on us, and we aren't giving up on her."

Rodney's eyes slowly lifted, filled with remorse. "If I hadn't…."

The headache spiked, and John clenched his eyes shut with a groan. He couldn't do this right now. "McKay, I-"

"What's wrong with you?"

"A headache. It's nothing." John pushed away from the table. "I was going to get some Tylenol from Keller."

"I'll come with you."

"That's not necessary, Rodney. It's just a headache."

"And the last time you had a headache…. Oh, my God. Are there whales on this planet? Has anyone checked? Maybe there's some other indigenous-"

"McKay!" John swallowed his irritation, recognizing the fear in Rodney's voice. "There's enough going on without panicking about whales."

"It's just that I have a- Never mind." McKay grabbed John's arm and hustled him toward the door. "Let's have Keller check you out."

Deciding to humor Rodney, John allowed himself to be escorted to the transporter. The doors closed, and a bright light whisked them away when John pressed the control panel.

"What the hell area did you select?" Rodney asked as they stepped out into a dark corridor that smelled like old gym socks.

John stared at the empty hallway in surprise then turned to the control panel. "I selected the infirmary wing. This shows we're on the outer edge of the city."

McKay stomped back into the transporter. "Maybe you need reading glasses. Men your age start going downhill rapidly, you know." He stabbed at the controls.

When the doors opened again, Sheppard arched a brow at him. "Maybe you're right. Men _our _age and all that."

"Oh, what now?" Rodney clicked his ear piece. "Radek! What's wrong with the transporters?"

"_We have had no reports. What are you experiencing_?"

"Sheppard and I are trying to get to the infirmary. First we were sent to the labs beneath the north pier. Now we're in section L47 level 38, near zoology."

John braced a hand against the wall as the argument between the scientists continued. How many more things could possibly go wrong? In response, his headache spiked again causing his knees to buckle. Rodney halted in mid-sentence as John slid down the wall, cradling his head in his hands.

"Sheppard! Radek, you've got to figure out what's wrong right now!"

"McKay," John whispered, "hold it down."

"Yes, yes. Sorry. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't-"

"_Rodney!_" Zelenka interrupted. "_There is a system fault in the transporter controls_."

"I know that, Radek." McKay rolled his eyes as sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"_No, no, not a simple error. The programming is being rewritten to send you to random areas of the city_."

"Being rewritten? Who's doing it?"

"_I don't know. I cannot access that information or the program itself_."

"Dammit! Some of the transporters go to unstable areas. Can you shut them off? Lock them down so they can't be used?"

"_I think so. Yes, is done_."

"Chair room," John mumbled, lifting his head slightly.

"That might work." Rodney snapped his fingers as his eyes lost focus. "We should be able to access Atlantis directly, see who's messing with her systems." He caught John's eye. "One… minor problem. We're over a mile away from the chair room."

John extended a hand. "Help me up then. We've got a long walk ahead of us."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

Rodney grasped John's wrist gently and pulled. John stumbled, leaning heavily against McKay as vertigo swept over him and his brains threatened to leak out his ears.

"You need to go to the infirmary," Rodney hissed.

"Is it on the way?"

"No, but-"

"We need to fix the city. If there is an emergency, the doctors and soldiers have to be able to reach affected areas quickly."

"Then I'll have someone meet us in the chair room."

John wavered as the room spun. "Fine," he agreed. "Make sure they bring Tylenol."

"I'll make sure they bring the entire pharmacy. Radek, we're headed to the chair room. Have Keller meet us there ASAP."

"_Right away. Good luck_."

"Thanks." Rodney cut the transmission. "We're going to need it."

"Come on, McKay. Where's your optimism?"

"I had it surgically removed at birth, Colonel Sunshine and Roses. Makes for fewer disappointments."

"That's just sad."

"Mock me all you want, but…."

The doors to the stairwell swished open, and they peered over the railing.

John glanced at McKay. "Level thirty-eight, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't the chair room on level six?

"Four sections over."

"Great," John sighed, rubbing his eyes. "This shouldn't take long."

"No more than an hour. Two tops."

"That's was almost positive, Rodney."

"Can you do this?"

"McKay-"

"I'm serious, John." Rodney moved between Sheppard and the steps. "You don't look so good, and I can't carry you to the chair room. The last thing we need is you taking a header down the stairs and breaking your neck. Can you do this?"

"Yes, I can do this. Just… if I stop occasionally, promise not to wig out on me."

Rodney sniffed as his chin jutted out. "Wig out? I have no idea what you're talking about."

John smirked at him. "Of course not. Let's go then, Nerves of Steel."

"Oh, har." McKay peeked down the stairwell again and sharply inhaled, holding his breath then blowing it out explosively. "Okay, I'm ready."

Down twelve flights of stairs, cut over to section K, down another fourteen flights, bridge to section J, down to sublevel one, over to section I and up to level six. Both men were drenched in sweat by the time they arrived in the chair room, and John's headache had progressed from a mere knife in the eye to an entire percussive set in his ears. Zelenka was waiting for them, panting and red faced.

"How did you get here?" Rodney inquired.

"The same way you did. Control room is closer, you know. And I thought you might need help." Zelenka handed John a blister pack of pills and a bottle of water. "Plus Dr. Keller and most of her staff are on the way to one of the construction sites – a crane collapsed. Another doctor is coming here with a med kit."

"Why wasn't I informed of the accident?" John asked between swallowing pills.

Radek sighed. "Communications are intermittent. We've been trying to contact you for over an hour."

McKay walked the room, powering up monitors and plugging in his tablet. "Which doctor is coming?"

Zelenka's face pinked as he ducked his head. "Biro."

"Oh, great," Rodney muttered.

"She's an excellent doctor," John said. "She wouldn't be here if she wasn't."

"She's… weird."

John snorted. "Takes one to know one."

"What are you, twelve?"

Sheppard drained the water bottle and chucked it at McKay.

"Oh, very mature, Colonel."

"Are we set?"

Rodney scanned the room. "I am. Radek?"

Zelenka glanced up from his workstation. "I have called up the transporter controls. I still cannot access the program."

John sucked in a deep breath, mentally bracing for the connection. Most Ancient tech required little to no conscious effort on his part thanks to the natural ability that came with his gene. Flying a jumper caused his spine to tingle. But the chair was unique. The dais lit when he stepped on it, and the usual warmth in his skull was a red hot poker this time. He stumbled, reaching for the chair which drew him like a magnet. The chair activated as soon as he touched it and immediately reclined. Tears pricked his eyes as he connected fully.

Chaos. His senses reeled from the assault. Colors, vibrant and swirling, strobed behind his eyes. Alarms whined, rang, beeped, wailed. Prickles raced over his skin. Aromas and flavors assailed him – apple pie, ozone, gunfire.

"-pard! Answer me!" Rodney's voice was distorted, and John wondered how long he'd been shouting.

"'m fine, McKay."

"You don't look fine. Where the hell is Biro?"

John didn't hear Radek's reply as he sunk deeper into Atlantis' systems. His city was screaming in agony, the shrieking causing him to fumble at his ears with a moan. A schematic blossomed in his mind's eye – blinking green for the areas under construction, amber for the leaking power conduits, a steady orange for the sections still needing repairs. But the sickly purple was the most disturbing. It was everywhere – comms, transporter controls, life support, biosensors. Pain shot through his extremities where the repair crews worked, and his heart stuttered as the purple areas grew. The scent of burnt wiring made his eyes water, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

Hands intruded on John's connection, clawing at his arms then his face. He opened his eyes to find McKay yelling his name.

"Wha'?"

"You have to get out of the chair now," Rodney demanded.

"Can't," John gasped, pain stealing his breath. "Atlantis is in trouble."

"Let me do it. You're not well."

"I need you to monitor systems. Help me fix them."

"John-"

"Something's really wrong, Rodney."

A heavy sigh. "Can you tell what?"

John closed his eyes, ignoring the pain as he sorted through the chaos. He passed the asteroid damage, the unusual building materials, and the new ZPM, focusing on the purple. The bitter taste worsened, and he choked on it; hands held his shoulders when his stomach rebelled. The headache spread down his neck to his spine. His muscles seized, turning to rock, and his back arched. Tears leaked from his eyes, and he couldn't hold in a strangled cry when he pulled back the final layer.

There, in an innocuous system used to pipe music through the city. Pulsating black, like a cancer eating away at Atlantis. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and the odor of sulfur settled around him. Bile rose again. More hands clutched at him, steadying him. Voices ebbed and flowed.

"…heart rate has doubled. You need to get him out of there." Tones feminine, authoritative.

"I can't." McKay, panicked and plaintive. "He's in too deep now."

"R'dney?"

"Sheppard, thank God. You have got to let go."

The city wailed in protest, and his entire body shuddered. "V-v-virus."

"I don't care," McKay stated. "Get out of the chair."

"No. The city has to be fixed."

"Sheppard, dammit!"

"Can you show us where, Colonel?" Radek asked.

John frowned, fighting against the black tendrils that were snaking into every system and reaching for him. Finally, a visual representation appeared over his head. "Replicator."

McKay spluttered in protest. "How is that possible?"

An image of the Replicator beam striking the tower flashed in his mind. "Signal on beam activated virus."

"You mean it's been here all this time?"

"Yes. Dormant."

"God," Rodney breathed. "I really hate them."

"Colonel Sheppard?" Biro leaned in toward his face, the odd woman completely professional. "I'm monitoring your vitals, and I'm concerned. Your heartbeat is erratic, your blood pressure is low, and your brainwaves… I've never seen anything like it. Can you detach from the chair?"

"No," John whispered. "The city needs me."

"How so?" Biro asked. "Tell me what's happening."

John closed his eyes, watching a battle only he could see. "Atlantis is fighting the virus. She needs me to distract."

Atlantis, a fiery silver-red, blazed as it smothered the purple, wiping out the virus' changes and restoring systems. A soothing blue appeared when Rodney and Radek joined the fight. John turned his focus to the black, unknowingly gripping the arm controls. Envisioning himself in a jumper, he dove at the heart of the cancer, firing mental drones at it. The black roared in protest and rushed at him, bringing an odor of decomp and an acidic taste with it. John spun away but not before a tendril lashed at him, slicing across his shoulder blades. He screamed as agony raced along his nerve endings.

Hands and voices broke through again.

"…not sure how much more his heart can take…"

"It's working, Rodney! The systems are repairing themselves."

"God, John, please stop."

The terror in Rodney's voice registered. John cracked his lids open, surprised to find Ronon holding McKay back. When had Ronon arrived?

"He knows what he's doing, McKay," Ronon murmured.

"He's _dying_."

"John, can you hear me?" Teyla moved into his line of sight, holding his face in her hands. "You must stop. We cannot lose you, too."

"Can," John mumbled. "Can't lose city."

"We're not losing either one," Ronon stated, releasing Rodney and moving to grip John's shoulder. "Fight."

His attention divided, John didn't see the black tendrils sneaking toward him. He gasped as they leapt simultaneously, the pain too great for him to scream. He was being flayed alive from the inside. His body convulsed under the strain, and his team's voices faded. Curling into himself, he sought the silver-red flash of Atlantis, relieved to see the last of the purple vanish beneath a wave of blue. He pulled in one ragged breath after another, refusing to give in. Mentally climbing to his feet, he pieced the jumper around himself again, grasping the controls with the little strength he had left. He focused, fired every virtual drone he had. The black thrashed under the onslaught, lashing out in one last effort. John braced himself, knowing he wouldn't survive the attack.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Tried."

Silver-red enveloped him. The blow was staggering, but Atlantis absorbed most of it. Silver-red swirled around him, its energy whipping his hair and clothing, then flung itself at the black. Howling, the black struggled as Atlantis wrapped herself around it and squeezed. Black tendrils plucked weakly at the silver-red then fell limp in a cloud of sulfur. John watched the black wink out of existence, taking the foul odor and taste with it. Atlantis swathed him in gentle silver-red, her shrieks fading to a faint melody of victory as she returned her attention to the blinking green construction.

John's breathing hitched as Atlantis released him. The chair righted, deactivating, and he slid into the arms of his team.

oOo

Awareness returned slowly. A steady beep was almost drowned out by rumbling snores. Swirling colors retreated and reformed into the muted hues of the infirmary as John slowly blinked, seeking the source – Ronon sprawled in a chair, legs outstretched. Teyla lay on the bed to John's left, curled on her right side with one hand reaching toward him. He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose at the scents of antiseptic and… coffee? Rolling his head to the right, he spotted McKay perched on a stool, cup in hand, eyes distant and expression vulnerable.

"Hey," John whispered hoarsely, smacking his cracked lips and coughing.

Rodney's eyes widened as they focused on him. "Are you okay?"

John nodded. "Thirsty."

"Oh!" McKay hopped up, exchanging his cup for the water glass on the bedside table. He held it for John who sipped gratefully through a neon yellow straw.

"Better?"

"Much." John sat up suddenly. "The city?"

"Fine. You did it. The virus is gone, and the systems are back to normal. How… how do you feel?"

"Much better. Headache's gone. My back itches though, and my stomach feels a little strange."

"Keller isn't sure what happened. When you fell out of the chair, you had huge slice across your shoulder blades. And either you swallowed glass or you suddenly developed an ulcer because something cut the hell out of the inside of your stomach."

"Is that why my chest is sore?"

A blush crept up Rodney's neck, and his gaze skittered away, giving John an opportunity to study him. Dark circles under his eyes. New lines on his face. Barely concealed fear flickering across his features.

"What are you not telling me?" John asked.

"Nothing."

"Have I ever told you how much you suck at lying?"

"Really. Everything's fine," McKay insisted.

A chair screeched as Ronon stood. "Your heart stopped. McKay and Biro worked on you for a while."

John stared at Rodney who pushed off his stool and turned away.

"It is true, John," Teyla said. "We almost lost you. Again." Her voice, always so steady and calm, quaked.

"I don't understand."

McKay's shoulders hunched. "It was the chair. Biro thinks it was causing your headache, too. It needed you to help it focus, to bring order to all the systems screaming for attention."

"I still don't-"

Rodney wheeled. "It was sucking the life out of you! Between Atlantis' damaged systems and the Replicator virus, you almost died. You did die."

"We had to save the city."

"I know that," McKay replied, his face bone white. "I do. I just don't think I can do this again. Not now. Not yet."

"I'm fine." John glanced to Teyla and Ronon, surprised to see Rodney's distress reflected on their faces. "Guys, really. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" McKay exclaimed. "How can you say that? Do you- I can't-" Rodney stumbled to a halt and turned away, stopping when Teyla touched his arm and whispered in his ear.

Ronon crossed his arms, staring down at John from the end of the bed. "I had a man in my unit on Sateda. He thought he had to do everything himself. Never could make him understand he wasn't alone."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

"He is correct, John," Teyla said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reached for him but pulled back without touching, clasping her hands in her lap. "I understand your feelings of responsibility for these people. I, too, have carried such a mantle. But I had help, a council to support me. You take such chances with your life…."

Rodney pulled his stool close and took a seat. "What she's trying to say is you don't have to do it by yourself. That's how we lost Carson and Elizabeth. Carson locked us out, and Elizabeth ran off by herself. Maybe things would have turned out differently if they'd let us help. Atlantis needs you. Alive and well, not dead in the chair room."

"I'm not dead." John carded his fingers through his hair, searching for the ever-elusive words to express himself. He could see it in their faces – the hurt, the fear, the loss. While he knew he'd made the right call, there were other times in the not-so-distant past when he could have shared the burden and didn't. "Look at me," he demanded, waiting until all three pairs of eyes focused on him. "I know it was close, closer than I'm comfortable with. I didn't mean to worry you, and I'm… I'm, uh, well, I appreciate your concern. I know I can depend on you guys to be there, and while I can't promise that this won't happen again, I'll do my best to… to ask for help more often."

Teyla smiled, a little relief peeking through. "I am pleased to hear it."

"Yeah, me too," Ronon said. "And I added your name to the list of advance combat training. Since it seems like you need a little excitement in your life."

"That's really not necessary, big guy."

Ronon smiled. "I insist."

A smirk slowly curved Rodney's lips. Happy to see a little life in his friend, John arched a brow in his direction. "You added McKay to that list, too, didn't you?"

"Of course," Ronon answered. "McKay's always on the list. He just never shows up."

"Really. Well, let me see what I can do about that, seeing as how I'm in charge and all. At least for the time being."

Rodney looked horrified. "You wouldn't dare."

John grinned at him. "First thing tomorrow, McKay."

"That is so unfair," Rodney huffed. "Give the man a little power, and he becomes a despot."

John leaned back against his pillow and laced his fingers behind his head. "Just call me Palpatine."

"Oh, come on. I have a thousand things to do. You don't seriously expect me… to..." McKay trailed off as Ronon encroached on his personal space. "Fine."

Teyla laughed as Ronon slapped Rodney on the back. "We will leave you to get some rest," she told John. "Once you have finished your training with Ronon, there are a few moves we need to practice."

"I think Keller's planning on keeping me here for several days."

"Ha! You wish," Rodney said, a bit of tension seeping from his frame as he shrugged from Ronon's grasp. "She's springing you tomorrow."

"Let's go, little man." Ronon looked back from the doorway. "See you tomorrow, Sheppard."

Rodney waved as Ronon dragged him out.

Teyla pressed her forehead to John's. "I am pleased that you are well. We were very concerned."

"Sorry about that."

She pulled back to look him in the eye. "There is no need to apologize. You were doing what needed to be done to save us and the city, and it is deeply appreciated. But know how important you are to us, and not as military leader or expedition leader. You." Teyla squeezed his arm lightly. "Good night, John."

"'Night."

John settled in the bed, squirming until he was comfortable. His team, his council, never ceased to amaze him. He thought of them as family, closer than his own blood, and he had hoped they might feel the same about him, maybe a little. But hearing it verbally expressed, seeing it in the faces of his friends….

Smiling, he turned on his side as sleep tugged at him. He had been trying to shoulder the load alone. He should have known he could count on his team to help him. Confident they could handle whatever Pegasus threw at them, John drifted off, a faint melody of victory singing him to sleep.

* * *

_Written for the shepsatlantis second annual ficathon for karrikln1671. Prompts: John, gene, angst. Many thanks to kristen999 and kriadydragon for the beta. All faults mine._


	3. Brothers

_A/N: Contains spoilers for S4's The Last Man._

**Brothers**

Dave slowly shifted the Esplanade into park and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. A six a.m. breakfast to discuss the next rate case followed by an eight hour board meeting then dinner and drinks with the majority stockholder of a large construction company that would soon be for sale. He missed Dad – his analytical mind, his keen business sense, his unique perspective. Giving himself a mental shake, Dave climbed from the SUV, walked past the Ferrari, the Bentley, and the BMW, pressed the garage door button, and trudged into the house. After disarming the burglar alarm, he peeled off his coat and slung it over a barstool, dropping his tie on top of it, then poured two fingers of Scotch and sank into his favorite chair.

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and let the alcohol burn its way down. Just as the muscles in his shoulders began to unwind, the doorbell rang. With a heavy sigh, Dave climbed to his feet and made his way through the house, reminding himself once again that it was time to downsize. A glimpse through the peephole showed a man, his face shadowed, wearing Air Force dress blues. Dave's hands moved before his brain could stop them, jerking the door open.

"John?"

The man stepped forward. "David Sheppard?"

Dave went numb as he focused on the man's face. Blood rushed in his ears, and he blinked rapidly, waiting for the face to resolve into John's. When it didn't, he answered with a hoarse, "Yes?"

"I'm General Jack O'Neill. May I come in?"

His legs wouldn't move, leaving him staring at the older man uncomprehendingly. "What?"

O'Neill smiled sympathetically. "I only need a few minutes of your time. If I may." He gestured vaguely toward the house.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course." Dave moved back, allowing O'Neill to enter. "Can I get you something to drink? Scotch? Bourbon?"

The general shook his head. "No, thank you. Um, can we sit down?"

"It's John, isn't it?"

"Let's sit." O'Neill walked through the foyer past the study, the Renoir, the Monet, and the dining room that sat twenty to the den and took a seat on the divan, waiting patiently until Dave sat across from him. "Mr. Sheppard, it is my sad duty to inform you that your brother, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard has been declared Killed in Action. He-"

"'Declared?'" Dave repeated. "Are you telling me he might still be alive?"

O'Neill leaned forward intently. "I'm telling you that your brother is never coming home."

"But-"

"Look, I know this is hard to accept, and I am very sorry for your loss, but Shep- John is gone. You have the deepest sympathies of myself and the entire United States Air Force. Your brother was a hero, Mr. Sheppard. He saved more lives than I can count, including mine, and he died doing his duty. We are arranging a military funeral at Arlington National Cemetery."

"We have a family plot."

O'Neill sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "We will honor your wishes, of course, but I would like to point out that your brother left a will…."

Dave's head dropped. Even in death, John was defiant. "What did it say?"

"He left almost everything to you, but he requested to be buried at Arlington. Seems he has friends there."

He stared at O'Neill, trying to process what the man was saying while suddenly realizing how little he knew about his brother. And now it was too late.

"Mr. Sheppard?"

Dave startled then shook his head ruefully. "Sorry. Long day."

The general handed him a card. "Call me if you need anything. Someone from my office will be contacting you about details. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Did he suffer?"

The general hesitated, his drifting eyes signaling his search for an unclassified answer. "No. From the little we understand it was instantaneous." O'Neill gripped Dave's shoulder. "Do you have someone to be with you?"

Dave shook his head, staring at his hands, the only sound in the house the ticking of the grandfather clock. "No," he answered. "I don't have anyone."

xxx

Nancy pulled off a shoe, rubbing the arch of her foot. Three inch heels were not made for the long walk to Capitol Hill especially not twice in the same day. But the intel was solid, and the committee had greenlighted the operation. She finished her report and emailed it to her boss. Her laptop was powering down when her cell rang. Grant.

"Hi, honey."

"_Still at the office_?"

"Yes," she answered. "I was just shutting down. Are you already home?"

"_No, unfortunately_," he sighed. "_My flight has been canceled. Something about storms in the mid-west. There are no more flights leaving LA tonight_."

Her office line rang. Glancing at the readout, she let it go to voicemail. Anders in communications. He could wait. "I hate to hear that, Grant, but I know how it is. We're scheduled for dinner tomorrow night with Anita and Sumir. Do I need to postpone?"

"_God, I hope not. I should be home long before then_." His voice deepened, roughened. "_I have something for you_."

Nancy giggled. "I bet you do. Call me tomorrow when you have flight details."

"_I will. Now, go home_."

"I'm going! Goodnight, Grant. Love you."

"_Love you, too. Goodnight_."

She tucked her Blackberry back in her purse, stuffed her laptop in its case, and headed for the door only to stop as the message light on her office phone blinked insistently. Sighing, she set her belongings in a visitor chair and checked her voicemail.

"_Hey, Nance. Marlon Anders here. Do you remember a few months ago when you asked for information on a… Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard? We had some flash traffic on him today. Seems the Air Force has pronounced him KIA. Hope that helps_."

John? Dead? Nancy dropped into her desk chair as her heart squeezed painfully. Memories of her life with John flashed in her mind – that wicked smile, his beautiful eyes that always said what he couldn't vocalize, features that could harden into a frightening mask or soften into the man she fell in love with. And she had loved him, still did in some ways. Grant was… safe, responsible, open – the kind of man she needed. She didn't miss the secrets, but sometimes when she was being completely honest, she missed the element of danger that had surrounded John. And had apparently killed him.

Suddenly thankful Grant wasn't coming home, Nancy grabbed her things and hurried to her car. She drove for a while, allowing her thoughts to roam freely. She wasn't surprised when she found herself at the park, trailing her hand over the back of the bench where they'd sat, where John had asked for her help. Taking a seat, she lifted her face to the sky, the late night breeze stirring her hair as the moon reflected off the pond. And slowly, the tears fell.

xxx

Dave hung up the phone and stared at the legal pad filled with scribbled notes. Two funerals in six months. Dad's had been easy, but John's…. He had no idea how to plan a memorial service for a man he didn't know. Pushing away from the antique desk, he headed to the wet bar and reached for the Scotch, disappointed to find the bottle empty. Had it only been two days since it was half full? His reflection in the mirrored shelves mocked him. For a man who prided himself in his appearance, he was a wreck – hair uncombed, the famous Sheppard five o'clock shadow out of control, his shirt wrinkled. He placed the empty container in the trash, choosing a chilled bottle of Evian instead. His thirst quenched, he went upstairs for a shower and a shave. He was tucking in his shirt, towel wrapped around his neck, when the doorbell chimed.

Hurrying downstairs, he was surprised to find his ex-sister-in-law on the front step. Then again, rumor had it she worked at Homeland Security. Maybe she knew something.

Dave opened the door with a warm smile. "Hello, Nancy. Good to see you."

Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped inside and hugged him. He patted her shoulder awkwardly then politely extricated himself from her grasp.

"I take it you've heard about John."

"Oh, Dave, I'm so sorry. First your dad and now John. It's not fair."

He gestured for her to enter. "Come on in."

She followed him through the house to the family room, declining his offer for a drink as she took a seat on the leather sofa. "How are you doing?" she asked.

Dave huffed a laugh. "I'm fine." At her sympathetic expression, he said, "No, really, I am. At first it was a shock. John has… had a way of making you believe everything would always be all right, almost like he was charmed. I- I never thought…. Anyway, I've spent the past couple of days trying to come up a service for him before the interment at Arlington, but-" he sighed in frustration, "-I have no idea what to do. It's supposed to be for family and friends to say their goodbyes. Besides me, and you, there isn't anyone else. At least not anyone that I know how to get in touch with."

Nancy studied him carefully for a minute, her features transitioning from sympathy to something close to anger. "What's bothering you, Dave? The fact that you missed the opportunity to know John or the fear that it will reflect poorly on you with your business acquaintances?"

"That's uncalled for."

Her brows arched. "Is it? He was your brother, David, and you didn't know anything about him. You never did."

"Oh, like you did."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did," she snapped. "I was a member of this family for a long time, and I can assure you John was a true Sheppard – completely incapable of voicing his feelings, unwilling to open himself to others, hiding behind a quick wit and a winning smile. But if you took the time, you could see him. John had his tells, and I learned them – something you and Patrick never bothered to do."

"Don't bring Dad into this."

Nancy stood, took a couple of steps, and turned to face him. "You know that I loved your father, but he was a hard man, completely implacable when it came to John. I could tell when they'd had words. John would be agitated, restless, his eyes stormy and his back stiff."

"He did everything he could to defy Dad."

She shook her head sadly. "The only thing he ever wanted was for your father to love him for himself."

Dave's jaw set in a hard line. "So, it was all Dad's fault?"

"Of course not. No one was more pigheaded than John. It kil- hurt him deeply to be rejected for not measuring up so he struck back. Nothing I said made any difference. And the chasm grew."

"I know," Dave admitted. "I didn't help any by siding with Dad, but I never understood John. We were just so different."

Nancy gave a small smile. "You're more alike than you realize."

"I'm trying to plan a funeral for a stranger. The Air Force asked if I wanted any certain hymns played or photos displayed. I don't have the first idea where any photos are. He's my brother, and the last picture I have of him is your wedding photo. And I picked 'Amazing Grace' because that's the hymn I hear on television shows. How sad is that?"

"David-"

"You were right, you know. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't know my brother, mostly because it will affect my business dealings. I'm supposed to be good with details. How do you explain that you don't know who your brother was?" He slumped in his chair. "Can you tell me anything?"

She retook her seat, toying with a button on the arm of the sofa. "Not much more than I already have. John loved going fast, any kind of sport, logic puzzles – he always came up with the most outlandish answers," she laughed. "His job was incredibly dangerous, which you know. It always was. I didn't know where he was most of the time."

Dave met her eye, brows pulled to a V. "How could you not know? Weren't you stationed with him?"

"He was Special Ops. He'd leave in the middle of the night. He might be gone for a few hours or several days. He came home a couple of times with injuries he wouldn't explain, and he never, ever talked about where he'd been or what he'd been doing. But I could see it occasionally in his eyes. They would go flat and cold during a news story on a bombing in the Middle East or Asia."

"John? I never knew…."

"You never bothered to find out. Sometimes I think he accepted those missions as a way to prove himself to you and Patrick even though he knew you'd never find out." She leaned back, biting her lip. "I'm not sure what he was doing after Antarctica. I tried checking into it when he was here a few months back, but I was shut out immediately."

"What do you mean?"

"I have access, in theory, to almost every major operation in the works. Whatever John was doing, it was far above my clearance level and very important."

"Do you know what happened to him?" Dave asked quietly.

"No. I tried to do a little digging, but the walls slammed into place again. If I keep pushing…."

"Don't lose your job over this, Nancy. I pushed, too. I started a few months before Dad died, trying to find out where John was, hoping to convince him to make amends. I called every contact I have – business, military, you name it. Nothing. The only thing I could do was keep leaving messages at Peterson. You see how well that worked."

"John was as stubborn as the rest of you. I know he regretted it."

"Told you that, did he?"

"His eyes did." Nancy glanced at her watch. "I should get going." She stood, car keys in hand. "If you need anything, Dave, please call me. And let me know what you decide about a funeral. I'll be there."

Dave walked her out, enduring one last hug. He closed the door behind her, shaking his head slightly. "John," he muttered, "why did you let her go? She was the best thing that ever happened to you."

He considered that remark as he wandered back to the study, attempting to read the notes from his earlier conversation. He dropped the legal pad in disgust, leaning back in the chair. If Nancy was right, the last few years of John's life had been filled with purpose. He wondered what else John had found.

The grandfather clock struck the hour, echoing through the house. Dave turned in his chair to stare out the window. This was a house – a big, empty one – not a home. It was a combination art gallery and museum, not a place filled with happy memories and loving people. Maybe John had found a home as well. Trying to not be envious, Dave picked up the pad again then tossed it back, making a decision. No private funeral. He wouldn't embarrass himself by trying to give a eulogy for a stranger. They would have the military pomp and circumstance and be done with it. He headed to the bar and pulled out a fresh bottle of Scotch as the clock ticked in the background.

xxx

"He's your ex-husband, for God's sake! It was bad enough you wanted to go to your former father-in-law's funeral, but this is ridiculous. People are going to talk, you know."

Nancy froze, earring in hand, as she stared at Grant's reflection in the vanity mirror. Tall, handsome with expensive tastes and a brilliant mind, he was a good match for her. But sometimes he could be a complete asshole.

Jaw tightening, she turned slowly to face him. "This is not about him being my ex-husband. This is about respect, respect for his father who loved me like his own. And respect for John. He was a hero, damn it, and deserves to be treated like one. He doesn't have much family and few friends. Now, I'm sorry if you don't understand that, but I'm going."

His eyes narrowed as his arms folded over his chest. "Then I guess I'll see you when you get back." He stormed out of the room, slamming the door on the way out.

Nancy blew out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and finished dressing in the same black dress she'd worn to Patrick's funeral. She smoothed her hair, grabbed her purse, and left. She'd offered to ride with Dave in the family limo, but he'd politely declined, saying it might give the wrong impression. She huffed in irritation at men in general as she climbed in her Tahoe and headed to the cemetery, wondering what the fixation was with worrying about what other people would think.

Following the instructions she'd been given, she parked and made her way toward the surprisingly large gathering in the distance. The sun was warm, and a light breeze blew. Nancy chuckled, toying with the idea that John had somehow engineered it that way. This kind of weather was perfect for either golf or flying.

She paused when she reached a large oak, pulling off a shoe to shake out a pebble. A stirring alerted her to people nearby.

"-dead. It was a goddamn solar flare that did this," a piercing voice insisted. "It took me three weeks to figure out what happened and the Air Force three days to declare him KIA. It's not right."

"You said that already," a deep voice rumbled. "Can you fix it?"

"No," he sounded mournful, deflated. "Sam and I have analyzed it into oblivion. We don't have any way to predict a flare period, much less the one we would need to fix this."

"It isn't your fault."

"I'm a genius, damn it. I should be able to figure this out. I should be… doing something."

"Like what? You already said it couldn't be fixed."

"It can't. I know it can't, but this still feels like a giant waste of time."

"Do you want to explain to Teyla when we find her how you were too busy to honor Sheppard's life?"

"Ahhh… no. But who's looking for Teyla while we're here? You know what Sheppard would say about that."

"Lorne and his team are looking. Carter said the upgrades to the Odyssey would get us back in half the time. We'll find her."

Nancy peered around the tree, surprised to find the man John had introduced her to at Patrick's funeral talking to a shorter man with a red face. She'd barely moved, but the bigger man – whose name she couldn't remember – whipped around in her direction, his right hand fumbling at his thigh. Soldier. The smaller man tensed and followed his gaze. Not a soldier but a man with some military training.

Chagrined, she stepped forward. "Hi. Do you remember me?"

The big man relaxed a bit and shook her hand. "Sure. You're Nancy, Sheppard's wife."

"His what?" the smaller man yelped.

She smiled in spite of herself. "His ex-wife. Nancy Reardon." She offered her hand.

He took her hand. "Dr. Rodney McKay."

Nancy didn't miss the hurt that crossed his face or the way his eyes cut accusingly to the bigger man who shrugged. They were dressed in dark suits, McKay's the more traditional of the two, and looked very uncomfortable. She glanced at the big man apologetically. "I've forgotten your name."

"Oh, sorry. I'm Ronon."

"And you worked with John?"

"Um, yeah. Civilian… contractor."

She leaned forward and whispered, "That story might work with some people, but I lived with John for years. I know what military training looks like."

McKay cleared his throat. "We aren't in the military. We really are civilians."

"Oh, I believe you are, Doctor." She grinned at his insulted expression. "I work for Homeland Security. I understand covert. I'm not asking for you to tell your secrets, gentlemen." The amusement drained away. "Were you his friends?"

Ronon looked her straight in the eye. "We were his team."

"I see." She did. She had lived with John through the deaths of Dex and Mitch. Nothing was stronger than the bond of team. While she empathized with the loss Ronon and McKay must feel, deep inside she was relieved that John wouldn't have to suffer through the loss of another team.

"We should probably, you know…." McKay gestured vaguely toward the flag-draped coffin.

"Of course." Nancy followed them to the gathered crowd.

On one side of the casket stood Dave and a dozen men and women who could only be colleagues based on their demeanor. An honor guard stood at the foot of the coffin while a chaplain stood at the head, and a rifle team waited in the distance. She moved to stand next to McKay and Ronon. Next to them stood three generals, a colonel, a man bigger than Ronon and wearing a fedora, a smaller man with glasses, and a dark haired woman. Various other military and civilian personnel stood behind them.

The service was quiet and respectful. Nancy had stood by John's side at enough of these to imagine him here, at attention in his dress blues, his eyes belying the resolute expression he wore, honoring the one who had given his life for the others. But she still marveled as they read off his list of medals, some which she'd never heard of. McKay whispered occasionally to Ronon, too low for her to hear, but sounding like explanations especially before the rifle salute. The honor guard crisply folded the flag and presented it to Dave who had watched the proceeding expressionlessly.

When taps began playing, she risked a glance at the two men beside her. Ronon stared at the ground, jaw clenched and throat moving convulsively. McKay gazed into the distance, trembling slightly, heedless of the tears that tracked down his face.

Suddenly McKay's shoulders slumped as his chin dropped to his chest. "Shit," he breathed. "He's really not coming back."

Ronon gripped the back of McKay's neck and squeezed gently. "No," he answered hoarsely.

Nancy's eyes drifted across to Dave. She could see the emptiness in his eyes even from this distance. She moved toward him as the service ended and people began to mill about. He shifted uncomfortably, switching the flag from one hand to another, but plastering on his best smile as he shook hands with his acquaintances.

Dave was staring toward the casket when she reached him. "How are you doing?" Nancy asked.

He startled at her words, his features stormy. "Who the hell do they think they are?" he hissed.

Jealousy flashed on his face, and she followed his line of sight. Not the casket. The people who had been standing near her earlier were surrounding Ronon and McKay, offering soft words of condolence and sympathetic touches. The two men nodded, shook hands, and looked like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"His friends."

"And I'm his brother. Half the Air Force brass is here, and they act like I don't exist."

"It's hardly half the Air Force command structure, David. Besides, they know each other. Those men worked with John."

"Right. Look at them. They really look like people the Air Force would hire. Especially the big one."

"Feeling awfully judgmental today, aren't you?"

"It's just-"

"Don't make excuses. They don't look like the kind of people you think should be defending this country.

"No, they don't." His eyes narrowed. "What do you know about them?"

"Enough to know that they worked closely with John."

Dave stared hard at her then backed down. "Fine." He glanced around, but no one was near them. Emotion flickered on his face, and he sagged as if punched in the gut. Smoothing a hand over the folded flag, he whispered, "I feel like a fraud having this."

He straightened quickly as the Air Force officers approached. Putting on the appropriate mournful expression, he accepted their condolences with quiet thanks. Ronon and McKay came last.

Ronon held out his hand. "I'm Ronon. We met at your father's funeral.

"Yes, I remember."

"Sorry for what happened. Sheppard was a good man, finest commander I ever had."

"Thank you," Dave said. "Did you know him well?"

The corner of Ronon's mouth tugged upward. "As well as anyone knew him, I guess."

"Isn't that the truth," McKay muttered, sticking out his hand. "Dr. Rodney McKay. I'm, uh, I'm-" He sniffed and glanced away as he cleared his throat. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"You worked with John as well?"

McKay snorted. "'Slaved for' might be closer. He always wanted the impossible and wouldn't accept no for an answer. And he was so damn positive all the time. Well, except for that time when- Ow!" His eyes widened with shock then sorrow as he rubbed his ear and stared at Ronon. "Don't do that," McKay said quietly.

Ronon arched a brow at him. "Don't give me a reason."

Nancy hid a smile. How many times had she seen John thump Mitch or Dex on the ear like that? She made a quick reevaluation. Dave might be John's blood, but McKay and Ronon were his brothers.

The man with the glasses who had introduced himself as Daniel Something walked up, speaking softly to McKay who nodded. "If you'll excuse us, please." They stepped away, conversing with the group that stood with Daniel.

Dave's eyes stayed on them. "I never really knew him at all, did I?"

She rubbed her hand down his arm. "Don't beat yourself up over things you can't change."

He hugged the flag to his chest, eyes downcast. "How can I not? Did you hear them? And not just their words – the way they said it, like they've lost their best friend."

"That's because they have."

"I know it. That's the problem. I should feel that way, and I don't. He was my baby brother, Nancy. I didn't know he had a best friend, much less two. What else about him don't I know? I mean besides the top secret stuff. Who else is mourning him? Was there someone special in his life? Did he still enjoy sports? Did he ever learn to play the guitar?" His eyes flickered toward the two men one last time. "Did they watch him die?"

"I don't know, Dave," she whispered. "But if they are any indication, it would seem that the last few years of John's life must have been good ones. Try to hold onto that."

Dave smiled mirthlessly. "His best years were the ones without me and Dad. That about sums it up, doesn't it?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." He ran a hand over the flag one last time. "At least I have something to remember him by." Head down, he made his way to the limo and climbed in. Alone.

Nancy dabbed at tears as she headed to her car, grieved by the shards of a family that could never be put back together. She glanced back one last time, watching as this time McKay placed a hand on Ronon's shoulder when they walked away, and she smiled through her tears, content to know that at least John had finally found the family and acceptance he'd always longed for.

The end.

* * *

_Written for karrikln1671 in sgagenrequest and abby1 who wanted to see how David and Nancy received and reacted to the news of John being pronounced KIA._


	4. Paperwork

_A/N: A double drabble. Contains a quote from The Seed and references an S5 casting change. No other spoilers._

**Paperwork**

"... _my superiors back on Earth… were going over my preliminary report_." _Richard Woolsey, The Seed_

Xiaoyi nodded coolly to Mr. Chapman as she gathered her files and stood. She had worked with him the longest and found him irritatingly pleasant. People who smiled that much were not to be trusted.

"Ambassador Shen?" Mr. Coolidge called.

If Chapman irritated her, Coolidge pushed all her buttons. Newest to the group yet the one in the position that should have been hers. Schooling her features to neutral, she turned back from the door.

"Yes, Mr. Coolidge?"

"You forgot this." He handed her a thumb drive.

She cursed herself silently in five languages for being so stupid all while smiling cordially. "Thank you so much. My staff would have fired me if I'd lost another report."

Hurrying out the door before he could ask questions, she collided with her assistant. Paper scattered everywhere.

"Oh, Ambassador, please forgive me."

She sighed. "It is my fault, Hsien." She crammed the files in her satchel and folded the thumb drive into his hand. "Put this with the others," she whispered.

He nodded imperceptibly. "Our source?"

Xiaoyi led Hsien to a secure room. "Woolsey didn't leave anything out this time."

"You still think he's going to fail, don't you?"

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

_Written for the sgadetailsfic ep tag challenge._


	5. Proper Motivation

_A/N: Contains spoilers through The Shrine_

**Proper Motivation**

"Oh, come on," McKay scoffed, wiping the sweat from his eyes. "You're making that up."

Ronon slashed at the vegetation with Tyre's sword. "Nope. Dalem is a legend among Satedans. He carried his entire team on his back through the mountain pass during a blizzard."

The gulp from his canteen didn't mar Rodney's eye roll. "All three of them. In a blizzard."

"Five. Satedan teams are made up of six warriors."

Rodney shot a glance at Sheppard who was innocently studying the jungle canopy while Teyla pretended to reband her hair.

"Riiiight. Five men. On his back. In a blizzard." McKay pulled out his tablet and made great show of scrolling through several screens. "Oh, look. That bridge is still for sale. Think I should buy it?"

Ronon shrugged. "A man can do unbelievable things with the proper motivation."

Rodney's scanner beeped. He paused, frowning at it as he adjusted the settings. "The energy readings are still fluctuating, but I think we're headed in the right direction."

Sheppard arched a brow behind his aviator shades. "You _think._"

"Yes, I _think_. It's like tracing an echo to its source."

McKay ignored Sheppard's smirk as the tramp through Jurassic Park continued. A fly-over in the jumper had yielded ruins scattered throughout the overgrown rainforest, and the HUD had shown abundant life signs. They had parked the small ship as close as they could, not encountering anything larger than a hippo-sized duck that startled out of the water when they landed nearby. Rodney had gawked as the unwieldy mass lifted gracefully into the air, seeming to defy all he knew of physics. Some days he couldn't believe he actually got paid to do this job.

"Rodney?" Teyla called. "You should see this."

He followed her over the moss-carpeted forest floor and through a veil of ferns, the damp foliage reeking of decayed leaves and fresh loam. A stone column was wedged between two trees, Ancient symbols almost completely weathered away. He pulled out his camera, capturing as much of it as he could.

"What does it say?" Ronon asked.

Rodney ran his fingers over the markings, trying to imagine the missing pieces. "I'm not sure. Some of the more important parts have crumbled away."

"I don't suppose it's directions to the nearest ZPM," Sheppard said.

"Of course. It says right here, 'Follow the yellow brick road.'"

"You're a riot, McKay."

"I'll be here all week."

Sheppard snorted. "That's entirely possible if you don't come up with something more."

"The words I can decipher don't make any sense. Sunrise, void, magma, forest, warship-"

"Warship?" Ronon stepped around him, studying the column intently.

"Stop drooling. I told you it doesn't make any sense. From what I can tell, it says, 'The sunrise in the void something something something magma forest over the warship.'"

"No directions to the warship?" Sheppard asked.

"What is it with you and directions today?" Rodney sniped. "Look around. Do you see a magma forest anywhere? You know how the Ancients were about décor and… and…."

"Energy readings?"

"What? Oh. They're still bouncing around like crazy." McKay circled the area, waving his scanner at the column, the trees, Ronon. "Nothing concrete. I can't-"

Screeching filled the air – inhuman and angry. As one, they glanced up. The hippo-duck had brought friends. Hundreds circled above them, the roar of their wings adding to the cacophony.

"John," Teyla said calmly, "perhaps we should…."

"Yeah, exactly what I was thinking," Sheppard replied. "Ronon, you take point. Look as meek and harmless as possible."

Rodney tucked his scanner in a pocket and followed Ronon through the jungle, Teyla and Sheppard close enough behind him that he could feel their breath on his neck. Their proximity and the thickness of the vegetation around him pricked at his claustrophobia. He focused on one of Ronon's dreads, concentrating on breathing through his nose. He knew they were not only making the smallest target possible, they were protecting him. His life – his off-world life anyway – was spent surrounded by his teammates; he was always in the center. The tension in his chest eased slightly as the thought of 'safe' replaced 'crowded.'

The hippo-ducks followed them to the clearing, the squawking and flapping growing louder as the forest thinned. Sheppard remotely opened the rear hatch as a particularly large fowl swooped toward them then veered off.

"Run!" Sheppard shouted.

Ronon took off like a shot then turned to grab McKay's vest and drag him along. Rodney did his best to keep his feet under him, hearing Teyla and Sheppard pounding along behind them. Ronon threw him bodily inside the jumper then braced at the end of the ramp, blaster drawn, to cover Sheppard and Teyla. Rodney ran to the pilot's seat and fired up the engines, moving rapidly out of the way as Sheppard skidded to a stop and dropped into the chair. The ramp was still closing when the jumper rose into the air.

"Watch out!" Rodney warned when one of the birds dive-bombed them.

Sheppard cloaked the jumper as he banked sharply right, the inertial dampeners struggling to keep up. They bobbed and weaved their way through the flock, barely missing two exceptionally large hippo-ducks. Rodney pulled out his camera, determined to photograph one of them to prove to Radek that he didn't make up stuff like this. He aimed carefully as a bird rose before them only to have the view blur as Sheppard turned the jumper's nose to space.

"Aw, come on. One lousy picture was all I needed."

Sheppard smirked as the jumper arced gracefully and headed back down to the gate. "Maybe next time, McKay."

"But you're going to back me up this time, right?" Rodney quickly tapped in Atlantis' gate address. "When I tell Zelenka about the hippo-ducks."

"What hippo-ducks? Ronon, did you see anything like that?"

"Don't know what a hippo-duck is."

"Teyla?" Sheppard lined the jumper with the gate and plunged through.

"I must have been looking in a different direction."

Rodney sulked as they rose through the gateroom to the jumper bay. "I can't believe you guys. Do you know what the pot is up to these days?"

Sheppard grinned at him. "Yep."

"You bet against me?" McKay gaped at him. "That's… that's just… rude."

"Ow. Watch out for that rapier wit." Sheppard chuckled. "Besides, imagine what the pot will be next time."

"Don't even try making excuses." Rodney followed Teyla down the ramp and toward the stairs. "I'm not interested."

Woolsey was waiting for them in the control room. "Welcome back. I need all of you in the conference room now."

Rodney exchanged a worried glance with Sheppard as they crossed to the conference room and took a seat.

"We've had some disturbing reports from a couple of off-world teams," Woolsey said. "I asked Dr. Keller to double check the results. She should be here any minute."

The doors slid open, and Jennifer Keller hurried in, her hair haphazardly clipped at the nape of her neck and violet smudges under her eyes.

"I'm sorry to be late. I ran the data a third time to be sure." Keller dropped in a chair, exhaustion and discouragement vying for top place in her frame. "It's definitely the Hoffan virus. It's popped up on three worlds not previously affected."

Groans echoed around the table.

"So, Michael's back," Sheppard surmised.

"Not necessarily," Keller said. "This version of the virus is a mutation."

Woolsey sat up straighter and tugged on his jacket. "How so?"

"Before now, it had to be introduced through the water or food supply. This strain seems to be communicable. The worlds recently infected are close trading partners, and only a small portion of the population is infected."

"Meaning…." Sheppard prompted.

"It's not airborne. At least not yet. It's probably spread like a cold or the flu – through personal contact."

Rodney wiped his hands on his pant legs, making a mental note to order more hand sanitizer. "And we can do what about this?"

Keller sighed heavily. "Not much. We never found a cure." She turned to Woolsey. "If this continues to spread, we will have a galaxy-wide epidemic. Eventually someone we know will catch it – the Athosians, the Genii, the Manarans. We need to stop this now. If it reaches Atlantis…."

"What do you suggest, Doctor?"

"We need to get out there, help these people, take samples, do what we can to find a cure." She held Woolsey's eye. "And it would help to have the designer of the virus here."

"What?" Rodney squeaked. "Are you serious?"

Jennifer leaned on the table, determined. "Carson is the best hope we have of figuring this out, and you know it."

"He's still recovering."

"He can work in a comfortable lab at his own pace-"

"Oh, come on," McKay protested. "He'll work himself into the ground. That's the way he is. You saw him last time."

"I know what I'm asking, Rodney. I also know how guilty Carson felt about creating this virus."

"You weren't there."

"No, not the first time," Keller conceded. "But I sat next to him in a lab for hours at a time when we got him back." Her voice softened. "It all came spilling out one day, like he'd bottled it up and the cork had finally popped. I was the one who happened to be in the room. When he finds out more people are dying… and he will…."

"It will kill him." Rodney clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. "He doesn't deserve this."

Woolsey's eyes flicked around the table then settled on Keller. "It will take almost three weeks to get him here. Are you sure there's no other way?"

"I worked for weeks on this before with absolutely nothing to show for it. I can send the latest results for him to work on during his trip. I can't promise that even with his help we'll be able to figure it out, but it's the best chance we have."

After scribbling a few notes, Woolsey nodded. "The resources of Atlantis are at your disposal, Doctor. Do whatever it takes to stop this. Dr. McKay, make sure Atlantis' quarantine protocols recognize and react to this new version of the Hoffan virus. Colonel Sheppard, please coordinate security details for the medical teams going off-world. Teyla, Ronon, notify any contacts you have to stay clear of these worlds until further notice. Thank you, everyone."

xxx

"Here."

Rodney glanced up to find Sheppard dangling a sandwich in front of him. "What's this for?"

"You." Sheppard dropped the sandwich next to the keyboard and added a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and an apple. "You missed lunch. Again."

"Really?" McKay unwrapped the sandwich and took a huge bite, his stomach gurgling in anticipation. "Guess you're right."

Sheppard straddled the chair next to him, studying the monitors. "Find anything?"

"Nothing. I've been staring at this data for seventeen-"

"Eighteen."

"-eighteen days straight now, and I haven't found one thing that will help us. Every chemist I have has been going over it along with the biologists, zoologists, and every other –ologist here." Rodney chugged half the water. "There has to be an answer somewhere."

"You know that working until you drop isn't going to solve anything, right?"

Rodney hunched over, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe."

"McKay." Sheppard turned, tugging at Rodney's arm until he faced him. "The last thing we need is you guest starring in the infirmary from driving yourself too hard. It's okay for you not to have the answer to this. Being a genius doesn't make you omniscient."

The muscles bunched in Rodney's neck and shoulders relaxed a little. "Well, of course not. Who would ever think such a thing?" He crammed a handful of chips in his mouth, talking around them. "By the way, who's winning the tournament?"

"Teyla."

"Of course. Why anyone would play poker with her is beyond me."

The citywide crackled to life. "_Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard to the gateroom_."

Rodney sighed, stuffing the apple in his jacket pocket and finishing off the water. "Guess he's here."

"Guess so." Sheppard punched his arm playfully. "Come on then."

"Did you strike me? I'm going to file a complaint." McKay hopped off the stool and followed Sheppard to the transporter.

"Riiiight. Be sure you take pictures."

"Ha ha. Have you forgotten who controls the life support systems here?"

Sheppard tapped the transporter controls. "Gonna shut off my oxygen?"

"Nope." Rodney stepped out on the gateroom level. "Your temperature controls. See how you like Arizona in July."

"There's a threat," Sheppard snorted as they crossed to the control room. "I lived in Afghanistan for two years."

"What about-"

"And Antarctica for the next year."

"Good point. Cold showers?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"Grunt."

"Geek."

"Gentlemen," Woolsey greeted wryly before redirecting his gaze to the ceiling. "Yes, Colonel, the east pier is ready, and personnel are headed your way to offload the supplies." He paused, nodding. "I will see you then. Woolsey out."

Rodney looked around in confusion. "Where is-"

A brilliant light filled the landing near the control center.

"-Carson."

Beckett turned, a delighted grin on his face. "Always liked that better than going through the gate." He stepped forward and offered his hand. "How are you, Rodney?"

McKay grasped his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Good to see you." He'd missed Carson, had gotten used to talking with him even in the stasis chamber. The nightmares had returned with a vengeance after Beckett had gone back to Earth.

Carson greeted Sheppard and Woolsey as they headed to the conference room. He heaved a sigh as he took a seat. "It seems the repercussions of my work on Hoff never end."

"Dr. Beckett," Woolsey began, "you were not to blame then, and you aren't now, but we need your expertise in order to find a cure before this becomes widespread. I'm assuming you've had a chance to go over Dr. Keller's research. She's off-world at the moment, but we can contact her if we need to."

"No need," Carson replied. "I've studied what was sent, and I agree with her assessment – this is a mutation."

"Any idea how to cure it, Doc?" Sheppard asked.

"Not yet. I've been working on a way to separate the protein from the body's cells, but I haven't had any success yet."

Woolsey nodded thoughtfully. "Will that cure them?"

"It should," Carson answered. "Once the protein is flushed from their systems, they should recover quickly. More importantly, if there is no protein to pass along-"

"-the disease stops spreading," Rodney finished.

"Very well." Woolsey stood. "I'll leave you to your work. Notify me when you have something."

Sheppard patted Beckett's shoulder as he followed Woolsey out. "Good to have you back, Doc."

Rodney grinned goofily at Beckett as the doors closed. "It really is good to see you."

Carson smiled in understanding. "Come on, my friend. Let's get a bite to eat while you catch me up on what I've missed the past few weeks."

McKay's face clouded over. "Elizabeth…." His throat closed up, and he blew out a breath. "She, um… she-"

"I know all about it. General Landry was gracious enough to tell me himself after it happened."

"Carson-"

"It's not your fault, Rodney."

"Isn't it?"

Carson pulled Rodney from his chair and steered him toward the transporter. "No, it isn't. And when was the last time you slept? The bags under your eyes are bigger than the luggage I brought with me."

Rodney smiled in spite of himself. "Oh, please. You probably packed enough to clothe the entire expedition."

"Exactly my point." The doors slid shut on the transporter, opening again to deposit them near the mess hall. "You and I are going to have lunch then you are going straight to your quarters for a nap while I get set up in the lab."

"I just ate lunch."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"True." Rodney rubbed his hands together and grabbed a tray. "Let's eat."

xxx

McKay clicked on email number three hundred sixty-four of the day when the conference room doors opened.

"I think I have something," Carson announced as he entered.

"Just in time, Doc," Sheppard remarked glumly. "We've got two more planets infected."

Beckett glanced from one face to another in horror. "Really?"

"Please, take a seat, Doctor, and tell us what you've found," Woolsey instructed.

"Preliminary tests show a ninety-three percent success rate in stripping the protein from the cells. But this has been in a lab. I need a few test subjects to try it on."

"What are you suggesting?" Teyla asked.

"I want to go to one of the planets, find a handful of volunteers."

Ronon leaned back in his chair. "You want to experiment on people?"

"It's the only way to know if the cure is effective," Beckett explained. "I need to monitor their reactions, make sure it's not causing more harm than good."

"What happens to the seven percent that the cure doesn't work on?" Sheppard asked.

"I don't plan on stopping until I can cure everyone."

Woolsey's eyes scanned the group, pausing when he reached McKay. Rodney's gaze flicked to Carson – pale, new lines between his brows, hands that shook from too much coffee and not enough sleep – and back to Woolsey. He gave a slight nod.

"Very well, Doctor. Gather what you need. I'll inform Dr. Keller. Colonel Sheppard, ready your team. You'll be escorting Dr. Beckett to… M3T-988."

Rodney jogged a few steps to catch up to Carson as everyone headed in different directions. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure. You don't think I'd be wasting everyone's time, do you?"

"That's not what I meant. Are you… you know," McKay waved vaguely, "up for this?"

Carson jerked to a stop and wheeled on Rodney. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. I _need_ to do this. Can you understand that?"

McKay laughed bitterly. "More than you can possible imagine. You just look… tired."

"I am tired – tired of watching people die because of my mistakes. I created the Hoffan drug. I created _Michael_. How many have to suffer for that?"

"Carson-"

"I'll be fine. We're just going to run a few tests, draw some blood. Now, grab your gear before Colonel Sheppard sends Ronon after you. I'll meet you in the gateroom."

Rodney watched Carson hurry away, the sinking feeling in his gut worsening. He made his way quickly to his lab to gather his tablet and a life signs detector then raced to the ready room before Sheppard got serious and sent Teyla instead. He snatched a tac vest, verifying its contents quickly, then clipped a P-90 to the front and buckled the thigh holster on, checking his Beretta's ammunition before sliding it in the holster. Teyla smiled as she passed, and Ronon turned to follow her with Sheppard on his heels. Rodney purposefully checked his vest one more time before he felt the familiar grip of Ronon's hand on his collar, pulling him to the gateroom.

He shrugged out of Ronon's grasp and gave him a sideways glance. "Could you, uh, do me a favor?"

Ronon's brows shot up, disappearing beneath his hair. "A favor. For you."

"Well, not exactly for me. I'm, um, well, I don't want to use the word 'worried' but-"

A big hand slapped Rodney's shoulder. "I won't let Beckett out of my sight."

McKay breathed a small sigh of relief. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Ronon grinned at him and ruffled his hair. Rodney pulled away, trying to hide a smile.

"Personal space, please."

He ducked as Ronon swiped at him, having experienced more than his fair share of headlocks. Ronon's chuckle rumbled in his chest as he passed, and Rodney suddenly wondered how many other people had ever heard Ronon laugh. Taking his place in the midst of his team, McKay smiled inwardly as Teyla moved aside and guided Carson to the middle as well. Being part of a team, being accepted, never got old. Maybe one day he'd find a way to tell them.

xxx

Rodney tossed the remnants of his MRE in the trash receptacle and ducked out of the military tent designated for meals and meetings, squinting into the morning sun. M3T-988 had shorter days than New Lantea – or Old Lantea for that matter – a mere sixteen hours. As screwed up as his sleep cycle already was, this might make his insomnia permanent. Sheppard had offered to let him go back to Atlantis, probably more out of annoyance than consideration, but Rodney had chosen to stay, citing an unusual energy reading. Which really did exist but was almost certainly attributable to the fluorescent plant life.

The neon pink leaves that opened at dusk lit the night sky and released a pungent odor similar to chlorine that lasted throughout the day. Sheer cliffs of a granite-like stone ringed the valley where the Souliv, the inhabitants of -988, had settled. People traveled from hundreds of worlds seeking this stone. According to Teyla, these people were more than cutters; they were artists.

A cool breeze hinted at approaching winter. Zipping his jacket, Rodney headed to the medical tent in search of Carson, nodding to Teyla as she completed her morning bantos stretches in the camp circle where a couple of Marines milled about. Another two were guarding the gate. Sheppard and Ronon were no doubt trying to run each other into the ground like they did every day. Crazy-assed soldiers. Brushing the flap aside, he found Carson inside with his face glued to a microscope. A couple of nurses bustled in the background, drawing blood and taking vitals from the smattering of natives slumped on cots. Rodney wrinkled his nose, trying not to breathe in any germs as he sat down next to Beckett.

"How's it going?"

Carson rubbed red-rimmed eyes. "Better. Symptoms only now. The last test results showed an absence of the protein in everyone but Tesdril." He pointed to a listless girl of about five. "She's dying, Rodney," he whispered, "and I can't stop it."

McKay pasted on a smile. "We've only been here three days. You'll get it."

"Not in time for her. She won't last the day." Tears welled in Carson's eyes. "I killed her."

Leaning forward intently, Rodney said, "No. You didn't."

"Oh, Rodney. You know I did. All of this is my fault."

McKay glanced away, wishing for once to have Teyla's gift of comfort. "Carson, you had no way of knowing this would happen."

"Didn't I? When Michael told me to make the serum, I could have refused."

"Could you have refused? Really? You told us he has some control over you."

"He had to kill a girl in front of me before I agreed to help him. He might be able to stop me from doing something I want, but I don't think he can force me to do something I don't want. Regardless, I could have tried. I knew what would happen."

Rodney caught movement from the corner of his eye. One of the patients shuffled by, hacking into a rag that came away bloody.

McKay scooted closer to Beckett and lowered his voice. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Right now you need to concentrate on the cure."

Carson nodded, swiping angrily at his cheek and taking a deep breath. "I know. I'm trying. Thanks, Rodney."

His face flushed at the heartfelt gratitude, and a lopsided grin appeared as he clapped Beckett's shoulder. "Well, you know…." He bit back the glib retort, the one he would have made before he lost two of his best friends, and cleared his throat, searching for words, failing to find them, finally settling on, "You're welcome."

"Dr. Beckett," the nurse's voice was calm but insistent, "we need you."

The little girl arched off the bed, breath gurgling in her throat. The nurse held her tightly as she smoothed her hair and stroked her face. Carson dashed over, dropping to one knee to press the bell of his stethoscope to her chest. His shoulders slumped.

Her breathing hitched, slowed, stopped.

Beckett's body trembled as he touched his forehead to hers momentarily. Pulling away, he nodded to the nurse who scooped the girl in her arms and carried her to a curtained-off section. Rodney stood frozen, his horror at the child's death magnified by the strength of Carson's grief. Suddenly cognizant of being observed, McKay stepped forward, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Come on," Rodney said gently. "Let's take a walk."

Beckett wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded, allowing Rodney to pull him to his feet and guide him out of the tent. They wandered down a hard-packed trail through an orchard to a nearby stream. Settling on a boulder, Carson drew his knees to his chest then folded his arms on top of them, burying his face. Rodney let him, using the rushing water and gentle whisper of the wind as white noise while he ran a few mental calculations on the Wraith tech data Elizabeth had left him.

"Did your Beckett regret what he'd done?"

Rodney jerked at the question. "'My Beckett?' What's that supposed to mean?"

"The real one, the original. I guess technically he's the one who did this even though I clearly remember it. Did it eat at him? Did he have nightmares? Did he curse the day he walked through the gate to Atlantis?"

McKay gaped at him. "I- I had no idea you felt that way."

"I'm asking how he felt."

"I don't know. I mean, we were so busy. I- We got sent back to Earth. Did I tell you that?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not." Rodney stood then turned to face him. "Cars- um, _he_ went home, worked at the SGC, spent time with his- your family. He wasn't held prisoner or forced to work for a madman. I know he regretted what happened on Hoff – you know that – but he had no idea that Michael had survived that planet. He… died before we discovered Michael was still alive."

"So, he never knew what he'd done."

"No. Carson, I-"

"What happened to Katie?"

Rodney blinked. "What?"

"Katie Brown. You had quite the crush as I remember. What happened?"

McKay sat down with a wry grin. "I screwed up. As usual. You know me and people."

Carson turned to him, a thoughtful expression on his face as he scrutinized McKay. "Tell me."

Haltingly, the story spilled. Words were Rodney's specialty but not when combined with emotions. He took consolation in the fact that at least Sheppard was worse than he was. But Carson needed the distraction so Rodney talked – about Katie and Kolya and Todd and Replicators and Sateda and nanites and Elizabeth.

He was describing in detail the beautiful painting Harmony had commissioned when his comm sparked to life. "_Rodney, is Dr. Beckett with you_?"

Teyla's voice was low, calm, and measured. Which meant big trouble.

"Yes," he answered. "What's wrong?"

"_The Souliv are searching for him. They believe him to be responsible for the disease. You must get him to the gate before they find him_."

"Me? What about-"

Teyla's breathing quickened. "_I must_ _go. They have taken Ronon and John. Get Cars_-"

A cry sounded followed by several thuds. A shout of pain. Then nothing.

"Teyla!" Rodney leapt to his feet, hand cupped around the earpiece. "Teyla!" He turned to Carson, wide-eyed. "We have to go now."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. I think the natives attacked our people."

"We need to help them. There might be wounded."

McKay ran his hands over his jacket. No tac vest. No P-90. Not even a life signs detector. All he had was a nine mil strapped to his thigh with no extra ammo. "No. We have to get to the gate, get help."

"Rodney-"

He pulled the handgun and chambered a round, holding it to his side as he crept toward the edge of the orchard. "I can't protect you, Carson. They've got Sheppard and Ronon. I don't stand a chance against them head on. We need backup."

"You call for help. I'll see to the injured."

"Dammit, Carson, they're looking for you. And I'm not- I can't- not again. Now, come on."

Beckett stopped. "Me? Why-" He gasped. "Oh, God. They know, don't they? That I created this?"

"I don't know what they know." Rodney grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. "We have to go."

They skirted the edge of the orchard, moving as silently as they could which still sounded like a freight train to McKay's ears. If- when they got back, he was definitely going to start those lessons with Ronon again. He stopped, searching for a way to get through the settlement to the gate on the other side without being seen. Angry voices carried on the wind, and he caught a glimpse of movement between the tents. Two of the village elders tossed an unconscious Ronon forward. Rodney dropped to the ground, crabbing through the prairie grass toward the camp.

"What are you doing?" Carson hissed, scrabbling behind him. "I thought we were going for help."

McKay glanced from Beckett to the clearing and back. "My team," he whispered then hung his head, eyes closed, knowing what they would say, what Teyla had already told him. He nodded to Carson. "We are. Let's get out of here."

They crawled through the field, hurrying as fast as they could without overly disturbing the waist-high grass. Voices surrounded them as the Souliv continued their search. Rodney halted randomly as he'd been taught, straining to identify which direction the natives were headed. A rustling nearby froze him. Another whisper had him pulling his gun, bracing his wrist, his breath hissing between clenched teeth. The grass in front of his swayed, parted, and a small hand gently pushed the muzzle to the ground.

"Oh, God, Teyla. I could have killed you." Rodney squinted at the blood that trickled from her temple. "Are you okay?"

"I will be fine," she whispered, moving stiffly toward them, favoring her right side. "We must hurry."

"What happened?" Carson asked.

Teyla smiled dangerously. "Two of the Souliv men… misjudged my abilities."

Rodney wondered if they had any teeth left. "Sheppard and Ronon?"

"From what I can tell, they were ambushed. Pelted with rocks."

Something deep inside McKay grew cold, brittle. His voice shook as he asked, "Are they…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"I believe they are still alive." Teyla rolled her neck, massaged a muscle. "I'm not sure about the Marines. Now, we must go."

The voices grew louder, turned in their direction. Rodney's gaze swept Teyla. Most of the time when he looked at her he saw a friend, a sister. But sometimes, he saw her as others might – beautiful, fierce, a warrior. Even injured she stood the best chance of getting help. She was still wearing her midriff shirt and BDUs but had no vest, radio, or visible weapon. Blood streaked her face, her skin mottled in places. Carson was studying her with a professional eye, seemingly unmindful of the coming danger.

The footsteps grew closer.

_A man can do unbelievable things with the proper motivation._

Rodney clenched his eyes shut, jumbled memories of a cave and a shrine in Wraith territory filling his mind. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. Teyla could protect Carson and bring help but not if she got caught. And she would never willingly leave him behind.

He gathered his legs underneath him and handed her his gun. "Get Carson home," he whispered.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Carson gaped at him. "What are you doing?"

"Creating a diversion."

"Rodney!" Teyla hissed.

Everything in him screamed for him to drop on his belly and pretend to be invisible. Instead, he memorized every line in their faces. Taking a deep breath, he leapt up and ran.

"There!" one of the Souliv called, giving chase.

Being a genius had many privileges, but running like the wind was not one of them. Still, he pumped his arms, legs pounding as fast as he could. Shouts swirled around him, but he kept going, drawing them as far from Teyla, Carson, and the gate as he could. The Souliv fired confiscated P-90s wildly in every direction, most of the shots coming nowhere near him. But automatic weapons could find a target even in the most inexperienced of hands.

He felt the bullet's impact first. His left shoulder jerked forward as the projectile hit and exited. Then the pain came – shards of it radiating in every direction, fire racing down incensed nerve endings. He stumbled forward, crashing to the ground with a strangled cry. His team flashed in his mind – risking everything for a jumper ride in Wraith territory to have one more day with him. _Him_.

Rodney staggered to his feet and fixed his eyes on the tree line, determined to not fail them. The next bullet clipped his side, but he didn't break stride. He was Ronon running from the Wraith. His legs burned; his lungs withered. Teyla searching for her missing people. A third bullet ripped through the back of his thigh. He fell, hard. Sheppard never giving up. Ever. Unable to walk, Rodney crawled, dragging his bad leg behind him. Carson… Elizabeth… Maybe a man really could carry his team on his back in a blizzard.

He never saw the blow coming, unconscious before he hit the ground.

xxx

Icy water slapped Rodney in the face, jerking him back to consciousness. Agony raged in his shoulder and ripped the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he blinked away the spots that danced in his vision, and a face slowly came into focus. Not a face he recognized.

"He's awake," the man announced.

Another man, pale and thin, shuffled in. "That's the wrong one."

Rodney blinked rapidly, trying to clear his mind. This face was familiar.

"What do you mean 'the wrong one?' Dark hair, blue eyes. That's what you said."

"This one isn't the doctor who's been treating us."

Shuffling patient, hacking into a bloody rag.

"You… son of a… bitch," Rodney mumbled. "We were… trying to help."

"I heard him," the patient barked. "He said he created it."

McKay shook his head. "Moron."

"Bring the other two." The first man squatted next to him as two others hurried from the room. "Where is the doctor?"

Rodney closed his eyes and turned his head away. His side throbbed, and his leg was sticky and numb from his hip to his ankle. Numb? Had the bullet hit an artery? No, of course not. He'd be dead already if it had. But he was probably going to lose the leg. Maybe he'd finally win that pot from Zelenka.

"Where is he?" the man repeated.

"Where you'll… never find him."

"What is the address?"

"I have no idea… what you're talking… about."

The man stood, placing a boot on McKay's injured shoulder. "The address," he repeated, grinding his heel into the wound.

Rodney choked on a scream as his body spasmed. He squirmed weakly, fingernails gouging the wooden floor, trying to get away, to find relief from the pain that exploded from his ear to his fingers.

"Tell me," the man insisted.

The pressure eased for a moment then redoubled as the man twisted his heel into the wound again.

"No," Rodney whispered.

The man stepped off, kicking McKay in his injured side as he walked away. Rodney gagged, curling slightly as he willed his stomach to stay where it was. Breathing shallowly, he glanced around. A small room, bare, made of wood, dirty windows, needing a coat of paint and central heating. The man and the patient huddled in a corner, whispering. The door flew open, and one of the men from earlier staggered in, his nose bloody and a Sheppard-sized boot print on his back. Rodney sagged in relief.

The three men argued quietly then the first man turned, a small brown bottle in his hand. He knelt next to Rodney, giving a cold smile while twisting the lid off.

"You are going to tell me everything you know."

Rodney huffed a laugh. "Really? Where would you like to start? The evolution of proto-stellar disks? How about the feedback from galactic fountains in proto-galaxies?"

"You're friends are dead."

"Did they die before or after they kicked the shit out of your friends?"

"Don't make me kill you."

"I won't tell you anything."

"Yes, you will."

The man held the bottle over McKay's shoulder and tilted it until a putrid green liquid trickled out. The second it hit, agony roared through Rodney's body. He arched off the ground, his scream reverberating in the room, his vision swimming as tears leaked out. The men held him down as the bottle upended again. Excruciating pain racked him, nerves shrieking in protest as his torso convulsed.

"What is the address of your home?"

His vision grew red, hazy. "One seven Wildrose Lane."

Liquid poured on his side, his thigh. "The address!"

"Vancouver," he gasped. "British Columbia."

The bottle emptied. Darkness claimed him.

xxx

Hands on him, on his arms and legs, touching his face and neck and chest. Rodney moaned in protest, too weak to push them away, too afraid to open his eyes. He held tightly to the image of a Genii blade piercing his skin and shattering his resolve. Never again.

"Won't tell you," Rodney whispered.

Distorted voices. Cold air. Strong arms lifting him.

"No, no, please. No more," he begged.

"McKay." A low rumble, familiar, protective. Safe.

"Ronon?" Rodney cracked his lids open as a dreadlock tickled his nose. Ronon smiled down at him. Dark bruises stained his teammate's forehead and cheek, a long gash extending from temple to jaw. "You look terrible."

Ronon snorted, the amusement not reaching his eyes. "You're one to talk."

Sleep tugged at Rodney, and he relaxed into it then suddenly jerked awake. "Carson? Teyla? Sheppard?"

"They're fine," Ronon assured him. "Beckett's waiting in the jumper. Teyla and Sheppard were searching the other buildings. They're on their way."

The numbness from his leg had spread throughout his body. Blood loss and torture had taken their toll on him, and the hypoglycemia wasn't helping. Was he dying?

Rodney forced his eyes to focus. "Would you do me a favor?"

"Name it."

Oh, God, he was dying. "Tell Sheppard-" _Goodbye._ "-that if he finds snow in his quarters-" _Take care of each other._ "-Radek did it." _I'll miss you_.

"McKay?"

His lids grew heavier. The numbness turned cold, creeping up his limbs into his chest.

"McKay!"

Ronon's face blurred, dimmed.

"Rodney!"

Jostling, bouncing, panting, shouting.

Nothing.

xxx

He was on fire, burning alive from the inside out. Rodney whimpered as the beeps and hisses around him grew louder, more erratic. He thrashed, panicked. Soft fingers brushed through his hair. A cool cloth caressed his face. Unknown words soothed him, chasing away the demons from his nightmares. The flames licked at him, kept at bay by an iciness that suddenly blanketed him. Gentle hands steadied him as he shook, pain blossoming in his shoulder, his leg, his chest. Then mercy coursed through his veins and swept him away.

xxx

Voices from his dreams pulled him to wakefulness.

One gentle and feminine. "… not your fault."

"Told him I wouldn't let Beckett out of my sight." A deep, masculine rumble.

"You were ambushed, Ronon. No one blames you."

"_I_ blame me. McKay-"

"-is trying to sleep," Rodney murmured as he rolled his head toward them, blinking slowly. "Hey."

Teyla's smile lit the room. "It is good to see you awake, Rodney. Let me get Dr. Keller."

"She's right, you know," Rodney said after Teyla disappeared around the corner. "It wasn't your fault."

Ronon refused to meet his gaze. "I got careless."

"You got hit in the head with a rock. Though as hard as your head is, I'm surprised the rock won."

Ronon's lips twitched. "Who says it did?"

"Oh, ow, don't make me laugh. What's wrong with my chest?"

"Operation. Something about mobile bone shards. Keller will have to explain it."

"Where's Sheppard?"

"Keller kicked him out about an hour ago. Told him not to come back until he'd slept for at least four hours."

Rodney yawned, exhaustion and drugs dragging him toward sleep. "How long has he been here?"

"Since we got you back. Five days ago."

"Five days? He's been here for five days?"

Ronon's gaze met his. "We all have."

xxx

McKay jerked awake with a strangled cry. Strong hands grasped his arms. He twisted, struggling to get away.

"No!" he screamed. "No more! Let me go!"

The hands disappeared. "Easy, buddy. Relax." A hazy shadow solidified. "You're home, safe."

"John?"

Sheppard nodded, his smile forced. "That's right. You okay?"

Rodney slumped back against the pillow, his adrenaline gone. "Yeah. Sorry. Bad dream."

A chair scraped the floor, and Sheppard took a seat. "I hear you."

The infirmary was dimmed to night levels. "What time is it?"

Sheppard squinted at his watch. "Oh-four-thirty."

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I was until you woke me up."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I meant in your quarters. Keller's going to sedate you if you aren't careful." He scrutinized Sheppard for a moment. Dark circles, new lines etched around his eyes, heavy growth of beard even for him. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Emotion flickered across Sheppard's face, an emotion Rodney couldn't quite identify. He braced himself for a chewing out. He wasn't sure if John and Ronon had escaped before or after he'd left Teyla, but it probably didn't matter. They'd had to risk their lives to rescue him regardless.

But the reprimand didn't come.

John leaned back, crossed his arms, and propped his feet on the end of Rodney's bed. "Get some sleep, McKay."

"What's wrong with you?"

"What makes you think something's wrong with me?"

"Five years of being on your team."

"McKay," John sighed, "do you really want to talk about this now?"

"Yes. Usually you-"

Rodney broke off as the emotion flickered again, staying longer this time. Suddenly he knew where he'd seen it before. It was the same expression John had worn when that parasite had been lodged in Rodney's brain and when Ronon had been in withdrawal from the Wraith enzyme and when Elizabeth had stepped through to the space gate and when Teyla had gone missing. Fear and loss. Fear _of_ loss.

"You know, never mind. We can talk about it later."

Sheppard didn't seem to hear. "You don't have anything to prove, you know."

"I know."

"I mean, we trust you to do your job, to pull our asses out of the fire with that big brain of yours."

"Yeah, I get that."

"You're a scientist not a soldier."

"Gee, thanks for letting me know. I had forgotten what all those letters after my name meant."

"You were talking earlier. When you were dreaming."

Rodney grew still as pain shot through his shoulder at the thought of a green liquid and a boot heel. "And…."

"And you don't have to worry about carrying us. We're a team. We take care of each other."

McKay could feel the flush climbing up his neck. "I- I, uh-"

Sheppard leaned forward, eyes intense. "What you did was very brave, Rodney. Don't do it again."

"Okay." Rodney hoped to never see that look on Sheppard's face again. "How's Carson?"

"Did I hear my name?" Beckett's head peeked around the corner. "Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty."

John stood, patting Rodney's arm. "Think I'll catch a couple of winks. G'night, McKay. 'Night, Doc."

Rodney ran a quick eye over Beckett. The permanent stress lines were there, but otherwise he seemed in good health. "How are you?"

Carson sat in the chair Sheppard had left. "Doing fine. The serum I developed worked on all the infected worlds, and we've immunized everyone here, the Athosians, and all our trading partners." Beckett's relief was palpable. "I think we may have beaten it."

"That's good news."

"Yes, it is." Carson glanced away then back. "Rodney, I don't know what to say. What you did…."

The flush returned as McKay waved vaguely. "Yeah, well…. I see Teyla got you home."

"Indeed she did. She took three teams of Marines back and found John and Ronon almost to the gate. The Marines that had been captured with them were tied up at the campsite. Something in the rock made it hard to locate your sub-cu transmitter so they had to search every building." Carson studied him thoughtfully. "You've changed, you know."

Rodney glanced at him in surprise. "In a… good way?"

"Yes. I… saw what they did to you, what you went through to save me-"

"Can we not talk about it?"

Carson nodded. "Of course, my friend." He settled back in the chair. "Now, as I recall, you were telling me about a lovely painting that a young lady named Harmony had done."

Rodney grinned. "I've even got pictures."

The end.

* * *

_Written for linziday at sgagenrequest. Thanks to leesaperrie for the beta. All faults mine._


	6. Identity Crisis

_A/N: Tag for Broken Ties. Spoilers for that episode._

**Identity Crisis**

To be a Specialist in the Satedan military was to be among the elite. The discipline was severe, the training excruciating. One must be fluid as water, stealthy as a shadow, able to move without disturbing the very air. Ronon employed all of those skills as he slipped from the infirmary. With Tyre's sword clutched tightly in his fist, he made his way to his quarters, taking the back stairs and the rarely trafficked corridors. But he couldn't avoid _The Three Warriors of Q'reska_.

Ronon hung his head in shame as he entered his room, unable to bear their reproach. Trudging toward the bathroom, he dropped the sword on his bed, stripped off the sweatpants and t-shirt that were two sizes too small, and stepped into the shower, setting the water to the hottest level he could stand. He scrubbed until his skin was raw although he knew nothing could rid him of the taint.

Wraith worshipper.

He had become the very thing he hated most. Bowing his head, he let the water pound his shoulders, pouring over his dreads, mixing with the tears he could no longer hold in. He had cursed Tyre – his betrayal, his lack of honor, his weakness – swearing he'd never yield. Not only had he yielded, he too had betrayed the people he cared the most about.

Ronon knew his team had forgiven him, had never really blamed him. They had stayed by his side in the infirmary, acting as if what he'd done wasn't his fault. Teyla had hummed a lullaby as she held his hand. Sheppard had brought recordings of his favorite football games, determined to teach him the rules. McKay had talked – and talked and talked and talked – but not in his uncomfortable, panicked tone. He chatted, sharing about his life, science, seemingly every random thought that popped in his brain. And Ronon had appreciated it. Silence gave way to memories, memories he couldn't face. He'd searched the eyes of his teammates but had found no condemnation there. Only the eyes in his mirror reflected that.

He turned off the water, stepped out, and toweled dry then pulled on his sleep pants and the "What Would Chewie Do" shirt Sheppard had given him for his birthday. He tried his best to act normal: he picked up his laundry, ate the spare PowerBar he found in a pocket, worked on the song he'd been composing for Torren's naming ceremony, but his eyes were continually drawn back to the painting over his bed.

_Wraith worshipper_, the Warriors cried. _Betrayer of Sateda_.

Ronon ripped the artwork from the wall, stopping himself before he smashed it over a table. Too much of Sateda had already been destroyed. His once bare room now held stacks of literature, a _puryl_ that McKay said sounded like a banjo going through puberty, and the broken pieces of a sculpture that had graced the courtyard of Melena's housing complex. The remnants of a dead society.

He tucked the painting in the corner near his door and was charging his blaster's energy cell when a brilliant prism caught his eye. The last rays of the sun sparkled on the curves of Tyre's sword, the gleaming metal a reminder of all he had lost. Sharp enough to slice the hair of a _gannet_, it could easily remove a man's head from his shoulders. It marked a soldier as a Specialist, a defender of Satedan life and honor.

No longer worthy to carry the title or the sword, Ronon reverently wrapped the weapon in his finest _skeera_ cloth and placed it in the corner behind the painting. After waving down the lights, he stretched out on his bed. He had learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, but he'd found the salty ocean air and crashing waves to be particularly relaxing. Not this night. His gaze darted toward the painting. The Warriors glared at him, accusing him.

_Wraith worshipper_.

He crawled out of bed and turned the painting to face the wall. Lying down again, he was glad that Sheppard hadn't killed him. Living with the shame was a far worse punishment.

xxx

The night had been long, filled with dreams of death and judgment. He shrugged into his day clothes and swiped at the door controls, only slightly surprised to find Sheppard waiting for him.

"You were almost late. Where to today?"

"Don't care."

Sheppard jogged toward the stairwell. "Missed you at dinner."

"Wasn't hungry." Ronon pushed past him, taking the steps three at a time.

"Less talk, more run. Got it."

The sub-levels between Grodin's Spire and the pier twenty floors down had been cleaned and cleared, allowing them to run freely for about five kilometers. Ronon hit the bottom step and took off, his dreads whipping behind him.

"Ronon!"

He didn't stop. His lungs heaved; his heart thrummed. Sheppard's voice faded behind him as he headed for the pier. When he raced through the outer doors, the sunlight was blinding, and his legs were rubbery. He stumbled, staggered, crashed to his knees. Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky, watching wispy clouds chase each other, and wondered again why there were no birds.

Sheppard staggered to a halt next to him and bent over, panting. "Feel… better now?"

"No. I've gotten soft."

"Well, you have been in the infirmary for almost three weeks."

"Shouldn't matter."

Sheppard rolled his eyes and plopped down beside him. "You're not Superman either, you know."

Ronon grunted in response. The briny breeze danced over his skin, the coolness contrasting with the warmth of the sun. As much as he loved Atlantis, he missed the land and the trees. He suspected Sheppard did too based on the way he sprawled on the deck with his face lifted to the sky. The silence stretched, the only sound the pounding of the waves against the pier. Ronon flinched as the image of Sheppard on his knees before the Wraith flashed in his mind.

"You hungry?" Sheppard asked. "Wanna get some breakfast?"

Breakfast. Mess hall. Prying eyes.

He deserved his punishment. "Sure."

They took the transporter this time and entered the cafeteria at its busiest. Ronon braced himself, put on his most stoic mask, and got in line. But no one treated him any differently. The lady who dished up the eggs gave him the same shy smile like she did every day. The cleaning guy waved as he wiped down a table. Two Marines from his advanced tracker class inquired about when he would be holding the next lesson. Of course, these people didn't grow up with the Wraith. They couldn't truly appreciate what he'd done. But the tension in his shoulders eased a little as he and Sheppard claimed their favorite table on the balcony and dug in.

Rodney slid into his chair, his tray clattering. "The one thing I ask is to have bacon left when I go through the line. But is there? Noooo."

Sheppard arched a brow. "One thing?"

"Yes, one thing. For breakfast."

"So that wasn't you asking about banana nut muffins the other day?"

McKay sniffed at his milk. "Is this fresh?"

Ronon swallowed a smile as Sheppard gave Rodney a mock horrified look and pushed away the glass. The two men continued to bait each other in their regular fashion while he shoveled in his eggs and toast. Normally he didn't let things he couldn't change bother him, but this…. He couldn't let it go. Pushing away from the table, he gathered his tray.

"Going somewhere?" Sheppard asked.

"Gym."

"Don't forget staff meeting at oh-nine-hundred."

"I'll be there."

Ronon didn't miss the look McKay and Sheppard exchanged as he walked away. The soft murmur of the dining crowd continued as he dumped his tray and headed out. Their lives were unchanged whereas his had been turned upside down. He'd always known who he was whether he was fighting for Sateda, running from the Wraith, or a part of Sheppard's team. Who was he now?

The doors to the gym slid open, and he blinked in surprise. Radek Zelenka was inside, dressed in a heavy white outfit, slicing at the practice dummy with a long thin blade. One arm held to the side, he lunged, the point of the skinny piece of metal landing precisely at the mannequin's heart. Radek swished the blade away and bowed slightly. His face was flushed, and his eyes widened as he turned.

"Ronon! I- I didn't know-" Zelenka's flush deepened. "I thought the gym was available." He backed away, heading for his gear. "I'll just… um…."

"Room's big enough for both of us." Ronon moved to the sticks, balancing a couple in his hands.

"Oh, okay. If you are certain." Radek settled into a light crouch, his weight on his back foot. "En garde!" He circled the dummy again, fighting an imaginary battle, slashing and parrying his way around the room.

Ronon leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The scientist was quick and precise, not surprising given his size but not what Ronon had expected either.

"What are you doing?"

Zelenka stumbled, losing his form. He pulled off a glove to wipe his face and push up his glasses. "It is called fencing."

"This is a form of battle on your world?" Ronon stepped forward to examine the blade that Zelenka handed him. "Doesn't look very deadly."

"That is a foil, and it's not deadly. Fencing is more of a sport these days."

"Like golf?"

Radek grinned. "A little more active than golf. Keeps me in shape when I have time to practice even if it is alone."

Ronon thought of Tyre's sword languishing in his quarters. While he was no longer fit to carry it, perhaps it could still serve an honorable purpose.

"Want to learn something a little more useful?"

Zelenka's brows shot up. "What did you have in mind?"

xxx

One day turned into the next. When Keller pronounced Ronon fit to return to active duty, his team's expressions were of complete trust as they stepped through the wormhole with him. The classes he taught were as full as they'd ever been. He found a sword for Zelenka to use, and they had practice sessions twice a week. The scientist was slow and clumsy with the heavy weapon, but he was a quick learner. Ronon meticulously polished Tyre's sword and returned it to the _skeera_ cloth after each lesson.

He was in the process of doing so one evening when his door chimed. Assuming it to be a teammate, he called, "Enter."

"Good evening, Ronon," Woolsey said.

Ronon laid the polishing cloth and sword on his bed. "Need something?"

"Yes. Well, you see, I'm a bit of a vinophile, and I understand…." Woolsey trailed off as his eyes focused across the room. "Oh, that's extraordinary."

Ronon followed his gaze, surprised to find him staring at _The Three Warriors_.

"May I?" Woolsey asked, taking an uncertain step toward the painting which was propped on a table.

"Sure."

Woolsey gently lifted it, appraising every brush stroke with unbridled enthusiasm. "So… visceral. Is this Satedan?"

"Yeah."

"Does it reflect an historical event or is it an artistic rendering of Satedan valor?"

Ronon blinked. No one had ever shown interest in it before except for that time McKay had helped himself to it. "Sateda was once a world filled with blood feuds and clan wars. Petty dictators would sell their mothers for one more inch of land, one more ounce of wealth. The Three Warriors had a vision for Sateda as a world united against the Wraith. They led a revolt against the largest citystates with the final battle in the valley of Q'reska. Their triumph led to other revolutions and soon Sateda stood as one people. The Warriors wrote the Satedan warrior code, developed our fighting strategies."

Woolsey glanced around the room, his gaze pausing at the blank wall space with a hook before landing on Ronon. "It must have been difficult for them to turn away from all they'd known to forge a new destiny." He set the painting back on the table. "Was the artist present at the battle?"

"She wasn't born yet. She painted it many years later in honor of Satedan unification."

"Did they ever fight the Wraith?"

Ronon frowned at him. "Who?"

"You said The Warriors united Sateda against the Wraith. Did the Wraith ever attack while they were in power?"

"No. Two generations passed before the next culling."

"I see." Woolsey turned to go, stopping as he reached the door. "I've been learning to read your language. Would you let me borrow a book?"

Ronon shrugged a shoulder. "Read whatever you want."

"Sateda has such a proud history filled with legends of might. I'd love to read about that."

Ronon pulled two precious tomes from his stack. "Here."

"Thank you, Ronon. I'll take good care of these." Woolsey nodded one last time and disappeared into the hallway.

Ronon grabbed his polishing cloth and continued cleaning Tyre's sword, his eyes drifting occasionally to the painting. He didn't know Woolsey well, didn't know if he wanted to, but he did know the man chose his words carefully.

Legends of might.

He glanced at the painting again. The Warriors stood proud, weapons brandished, expressions fierce as they revolutionized Sateda. They were the ideal warriors. The ones who shaped Sateda. The ones who'd never fought a Wraith.

Gently wrapping the sword in the _skeera_ cloth, Ronon set it in its place then picked up the painting. Satedan history deserved a place of honor, not to be hidden in a corner. He hung it in its spot over his bed and stepped back to study it again. The Three Warriors gazed back at him, but what he had originally seen as accusation he now recognized as determination. They had willed Sateda to change, to find the strength to make a new beginning. Maybe they could do the same for him.

xxx

"She's late again."

Sheppard drained the last of his water. "She's allowed, McKay."

"I'm just saying…."

"Well, don't say it too loud. You'll find yourself on the receiving end of a painful bantos lesson."

Ronon swiped the brownie from Rodney's tray while he was nervously scanning the crowd.

"Hey! That was mine."

He stuffed the entire dessert in his mouth. "Wha'?"

McKay wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Were you raised in a barn?"

"Nope. Fourteenth floor of the merchant district. You?"

"Campus housing."

Sheppard shrugged. "Martha's Vineyard."

"_Dr. McKay to Chem Lab Six. Dr. McKay to Chem Lab Six_."

"Dammit." Rodney tossed his napkin on his tray and stood. "The next cloning facility we find I'm using for me." He ranted all the way into the hall.

"Can you imagine an entire department of McKays?" Sheppard shuddered. "Promise to shoot me first."

"Done."

Sheppard glanced at his watch. "Time for military staff meeting. We still on for sparring later?"

"Yep."

Ronon peeled the _trislot_ and sucked the juice out of the first slice while he watched the roiling clouds on the horizon.

"Did I miss her?" Kanaan gripped his tray tightly as he shifted from one foot to the next.

"Not here yet." Ronon let him dance anxiously for a moment then relented. "Sit down."

Kanaan practically collapsed in the seat. "Thank you." He twisted a napkin through his fingers as he scanned the room. "I got lost."

"Big place."

"Yes, it is. How long, um, before you knew your way around?"

"I had escorts."

"Oh." Kanaan sipped from a glass of juice. "We weren't allowed to roam much when we lived here the first time. Much has changed since then."

Ronon leaned back and studied the man. He was more jittery than McKay on a caffeine high. His eyes never stopped searching the room as he gnawed on his lip and wiped his hands on his pants.

"She'll be here."

Kanaan gave a wobbly smile. "I know. It's just I- I want to…."

"Make up for what happened?"

"Nothing can make up for what I did." Kanaan's face darkened as his eyes dropped to the table. "Nothing."

"Teyla doesn't blame you."

"She doesn't have to."

Ronon sat forward, elbows on the table. "What Michael did…. You couldn't stop him. You fought through it, broke his hold when it mattered."

"Do you know how many people I killed?" Kanaan whispered.

"Yes."

Kanaan's eyes flicked upward. "How do I live with that?"

"What does Teyla say?"

Kanaan gave a bitter laugh. "Accept what happened. Put the past behind me and focus on the future."

"Sounds like good advice."

"Are you taking it?"

Ronon's heart pounded. "What?"

Kanaan lifted his head, his eyes intense. "I know what the Wraith did to you."

This man had grown up under the Wraith, understood what Ronon had done. "That's different."

"Teyla said the Wraith altered the chemicals in your body to make you obey them. How is that different?"

"I'm sorry to be late." Teyla smiled tiredly as she bounced Torren on her hip. "I lost track of time."

Ronon pushed away from the table and grabbed his tray. "Sit here. I've got a class."

He glanced back as he reached the doorway. Torren was now in Kanaan's arms, and Teyla bent to press first her forehead then a kiss to her son's head. Kanaan met Ronon's eyes across the room, and a sense of peace filled his face as he cradled his child and Teyla's fingers brushed his face.

Ronon headed to the gym, pondering the meaning of future and family.

xxx

"That man is going to be late to his own funeral," Sheppard sighed. "Are you sure he's coming?"

"I am sure, John." Teyla placed a comm link behind her ear and slid the radio in a pocket. "Rodney has… issues lacing up his boots."

"I do not," McKay huffed as he stomped in gracelessly. "Not if the laces are the proper length. Apparently budget cuts are affecting footwear now as well." He shot a scathing glance at Sheppard. "Not that you could tell."

Sheppard snorted. "Jealous?"

"Oh, please. I learned to tie my shoes when I was two."

Ronon traded an amused glance with Teyla as the sniping continued. She smiled at him in approval. "Are you expecting trouble today?"

"I always expect trouble."

The Ring burst to life, the shimmering blue reflecting off the hilt of Tyre's sword. Ronon adjusted the scabbard on his back then rested his hand on his blaster as he stepped through the wormhole. He led the way. In defense and honor.

* * *

_Written for sgadetailsfic. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	7. Token of Appreciation

_A/N: Related to The Shrine but no spoilers_

**Token of Appreciation**

"You know, if you're trying to hide from Caldwell, you're not doing a very good job." McKay lounged in Sheppard's doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and holding a large brown paper package in his arms.

John pulled out an earbud and set _War and Peace_ to the side. "Who said I was hiding?"

McKay sauntered in and tossed the package to him. "Mail call."

The package was lighter and squishier than John had expected. The return address showed as World Wildlife Fund in Washington DC, and the wrapping had been resealed at least twice. Just had to love Air Force and SGC security.

"Thanks," John said, laying the parcel on his nightstand.

"Aren't you going to open it?" McKay asked.

John grinned, knowing curiosity was eating Rodney alive. "Nope."

"Aw, come on. The only mail you ever get is three month old magazines."

"Unlike you who gets, no, wait, let me think…. Oh yeah. Physics R Us."

McKay sniffed disdainfully. "I'll have you know that I received a letter from my sister and cookies from my genius niece today."

"Cookies?" John did his best to look pitiful.

"Yep. Oatmeal raisin."

"Those are my favorites."

Rodney picked up a comic book and flipped through it casually. "You don't say."

"Okay. Fine."

John tore the package open. An envelope – opened and closed numerous times – fell out along with a black t-shirt which he unfolded and held up. "Satisfied?"

McKay's mouth twitched. "Is that a panda bear? Someone sent you a panda shirt?" Rodney's shoulders shook for a second then he finally gave up all pretense and howled with laughter until he sagged against the pillar, arms wrapped around his middle. "Do you plan on wearing it off-world?"

"Do you remember M2R-936? The monks who thought you'd stolen their sacred relic?"

"It was a music box."

"And made you strip to prove you didn't take it?"

"Completely unreasonable people."

John smirked at him. "A man who wears Batman boxers and a 'Physicists Do It With a Big Bang' t-shirt _off-world_ should not be questioning the apparel of others."

McKay's glare slowly melted into a grin. "At least I had on underwear. Ronon-"

"Talking about me?" Ronon strode into the room, munching on a mouth-watering oatmeal raisin cookie.

"You stole my cookies!"

Ronon looked amused as he stuffed the rest of it in his mouth. "You left the tin in the control room."

"Oh, no," McKay groaned, heading for the door. "Chuck will be selling them if I don't hurry."

"Too late," Ronon called after him then chuckled as he turned to John. "You want one?"

"You bought two off Chuck?"

Ronon smiled, handing over a cookie. "Bought?"

"Right. What was I thinking?"

"Wanna watch McKay explode all over the control room?"

John took a small bite of the cookie, savoring every crumb. "Nah. Been there, done that. You have fun though."

"We on for sparring later?"

"Yeah. See you then."

When Ronon's footsteps had faded, John opened the envelope.

_Dear Colonel Sheppard:_

_Thank you for your generous contribution of 1,000,000 to the Caroline Sheppard Memorial Fund. Your donation allows the World Wildlife Fund to research and rescue endangered animals and habitats. While small, please accept this token of our appreciation as a reminder of the good work that will be done in your mother's name. It was a pleasure to speak with you in person after all these years. _

_If you need anything or have any questions, please do not hesitate to call. Thank you once again._

_Sincerely,_

_C. H. Pemberly_

_Chief Financial Officer_

_World Wildlife Fund_

John folded the letter, stuffed it in the envelope, and tucked it in a box for his CPA. He tossed the shirt in a corner, intending to put it in the refugee donation box that Cadman had started and Mehra was currently in charge of. Then he picked the shirt up again, smoothing out the wrinkles and tracing the outline of the bear's face as the memories surfaced.

xxx

"That's all we need from you, Major."

John grinned wryly at the airman. "That's all? I feel like I'm donating a kidney based on the amount of paperwork."

The young man nodded in sympathy. "I understand, Sir. But we won't exactly be able to reach you if something comes up."

"So I've heard."

"Do you have any questions for me, Sir?"

"Just one. Is there a way I can have a charitable donation withheld from my paycheck? I've been writing a check every year, but like you say, the local post office will be slightly inaccessible."

The airman glanced around cautiously then leaned forward. "We can, but you might not be… happy with the results. Sometimes the paperwork for that kind of thing takes months to get processed. My suggestion would be to have the organization draft your account."

"Gotcha. Thanks."

John slowly wound his way through the SGC until he found an empty lab. He googled the Fund's website, looked up the contact information, and placed a call. Thirty minutes later, his annual donation of ten thousand dollars was set to be debited from his account every year on the fifteenth of April, his mother's birthday.

xxx

John shuffled through Dave's records, hoping his brother hadn't taken _Jesse's Girl_ back to Harvard with him. Success! He pulled it and was heading back to his room when the doorbell chimed. Heaving a sigh, he tossed the record on his bed and stomped down the stairs. Dad was still at work, and the cook and housekeeper had left hours ago. John flung the front door open, knowing Jeffrey wouldn't let anyone through the gate who didn't belong.

"Hi, Mr. Franks."

"Good evening, John."

"My dad's not home."

"I'm here to see you."

"Me? Why?"

"Your eighteenth birthday is next month." When John didn't reply, Franks prompted, "The inheritance your mother left you."

"Oh, of course, sorry. Come on in." John stepped back and allowed the family lawyer to enter. "Um, wanna sit in the kitchen? I hate Dad's office, and the living room's kinda stuffy."

"The kitchen is fine."

John led the way through the huge empty house and flipped on the lights in the kitchen. "Want something to drink?" he asked as he grabbed a can of Coke.

"No, thank you." The lawyer opened his briefcase and withdrew a stack of papers. "Do you remember the provisions of your mother's will?"

"Not really." John slid into a chair and propped his elbows on the table. "I know she left some money because Dave got his a couple of years ago."

John's eyes glazed over as Franks began to read through the documents. He slumped in his chair, still trying to figure out how he was going to avoid Harvard. Stanford was his choice. Great school. Didn't hurt that it was in California. He could already see himself catching waves on the weekends.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Franks. Would you repeat that?"

"I said your mother left you two million dollars."

"Two million. Dollars."

"That's right. Your annual allowance will be fifty thousand dollars until you reach the age of forty. The balance plus accrued interest will be yours to do with as you please."

John blinked at him, struggling to wrap his mind around the idea that he was finally free. No more towing the party line, following his father's commands. Free.

"Are you alright, son?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry. I- I just… Fifty thousand dollars a year?"

The older man chuckled. "Any idea of how you'd like to proceed?"

"Absolutely."

By the time his birthday arrived, John had moved in with Joey Wickham's family after his father had kicked him out, signed up for flying lessons, enrolled at Stanford, and set up a memorial fund in his mother's name at her favorite charity. John bought a cupcake and stuck a candle in it, lighting it and blowing it out alone, feeling foolish but making a wish anyway. Who knew? Maybe wishes did come true. Maybe one day he'd find a place he could call home. Maybe.

xxx

John rummaged through his closet until he found The Suit. He hated dressing up – the collar made his neck itch and the tie choked him – but his mother had always smiled in delight and kissed his cheek when he put it on. "You look so handsome, Johnny," she'd said. His eight year-old fingers couldn't fasten the tie right, but he did his best. He picked up his change jar, holding it carefully with both hands, and cautiously made his way downstairs to his dad's office.

"I'm ready to go, Daddy."

His glanced at him over the top of the newspaper. "Go where, boy?"

"It's Mommy's birthday. We always work to save the pandas on Mommy's birthday."

Patrick laid the newspaper on the desk and rubbed his forehead before leaning forward. "Now, I've explained this to you, John. Your mother is dead. She isn't coming back."

John swallowed the tears burning his throat. "I know that."

"She isn't here to save the pandas anymore."

His chin jutted out. "But I want to. I've got my own money." He brandished the jar. "See."

"You've got to be more responsible with your money, Son. You can't give it to every pathetic cause out there."

John frowned at him. He didn't exactly understand what his dad was saying, but he felt the insult anyway. "I want to help save the pandas like Mommy did."

"I said no."

"But Daddy-"

"Drop it, John. Go… play."

John held the tears in, refusing to cry in front of his father. When he reached the kitchen the housekeeper, Agnes, held him close, rubbing his back until he had cried all the tears he had left.

"What's wrong, sugar?"

"D-d-daddy won't let me save the pandas. Mommy said it was important, that we had to care about the things around us, but he thinks it's pa- pa- pa… stupid."

"Maybe he'll change his mind."

"But I have to go today. It's Mommy's birthday."

"Honey, it's Sunday. The office will be closed."

Crestfallen, John's bottom lip began to tremble. "But I wanted to save the pandas like Mommy."

Agnes sat in a chair and lifted him onto her lap. He curled into her, wrapping his arms around her neck. "I'll have a talk with Bernie," she said. "Maybe when he picks you up from school tomorrow, he can drive you to the Fund office."

"It won't be her birthday."

"Well, your mother was so special she deserved to have a double birthday. We'll celebrate today and tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"Do I have to wear my suit again tomorrow?"

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "I think once is enough."

The next day he solemnly handed his jar of change to the lady at the counter. She counted it carefully in front of him and thanked him with a big smile, saying how clever he was for saving over one hundred dollars for the pandas. Bernie bought him an ice cream cone, and they were home long before his father was. Dave merely grunted when he saw the empty jar, but when John crawled into bed that night, he found a handful of coins on his pillow.

xxx

"Where going, Mommy?" John asked.

"It's time to save the pandas, baby." Caroline clipped on her earring and smoothed her hair from her face.

"What's a panna?"

"Panda," she repeated, emphasizing the _d_. "A panda is like a giant teddy bear."

"Can I have one?"

"No, sweetheart. The pandas, well, there aren't very many of them anymore. I help this group that cares about animals, and right now we are trying to help pandas. If we don't, they'll all die."

"Why?"

She cupped his face in her hands, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "Because sometimes people forget to take care of what they are responsible for."

"We're reponbisle for the pan- bears?"

"Responsible. For the bears and the deer and the birds and the trees and everything you see around you."

"I have to take care of everything?"

Caroline laughed. "Not by yourself, but you do have to take care of what you can. You must be a good steward of what you've been given."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." She picked him up. "Gracious, you are getting so big. Are you sure you're only three?"

"I'll be four soon, and I have to act like it. That's what Daddy says."

"I bet," Caroline muttered. "Would you like to go with me to save the pandas?"

"Yes!"

Bernie knew exactly where to go, and John stared wide-eyed at the tall buildings. He held his mother's hand tightly as they went inside one and rode an elevator.

"Does Daddy's office look like this?" he asked.

"A little. Daddy's offices are… bigger, gaudier."

The people were very nice, shaking hands with both of them and offering him candy. One man gave him a big black and white bear which Mommy said was a panda, and a lady gave him a book with pictures and lots of words.

When they got in the car to go home, Caroline asked, "What did you think?"

He hugged his bear close. "I like them."

"That's a toy, John. Pandas are real bears." She flipped the pages in the book until she found pictures. "See. They live in the forest and eat bamboo and have families."

"And we have to take care of them."

Caroline hugged him close. "That's right. We have to protect what's important no matter what the cost."

John snuggled against her. Protect what's important. He could do that.

xxx

John smiled sadly as he folded the shirt carefully and set it on his table. Deciding the fireworks in the control room might need mediating, he stuffed his feet in his boots and slid his comm on his ear. He started for the door then stopped. Pulling off his plain black shirt, he tugged on the panda shirt and headed out, intent on rescuing at least one oatmeal raisin cookie.

* * *

_Written for sgadetailsfic. Thanks to jadesfire2808 who wondered where Sheppard got that shirt and to kristen999 for the lightening fast beta. All faults mine. _


	8. A Thin Line

_A/N: Spoilers through Midway_

**A Thin Line**

Finishing her last lap, Teyla swam to the shallow end and held onto the side of the pool as she pulled the snorkel off. Dr. Keller had been correct that the breathing pipe would relieve the pressure on her neck even if it looked quite ridiculous. She was thankful that this pool, at the base of the tower, was utilized frequently by soldiers and scientists alike since she never swam alone these days. Several people spoke or waved a greeting as they passed, and she nodded in return, all the while eyeing the steps and the handrail. One day her arms would refuse to pull her body out of the water.

"Teyla?"

She glanced up to find Samantha Carter at the top of the steps.

"Good afternoon, Colonel."

Bracing her back and arms against the side of the pool, Teyla let herself float as Carter waded in. Hair pulled back and dressed in a dark blue swimsuit that Teyla recognized from magazines as a competitive swimmer's, Carter slowly sank under the water. Impressed with the colonel's ability to hold her breath, Teyla began to worry that she should call for help when Carter broke the surface with a gasp.

"God, what a day," Carter muttered as she mimicked Teyla's stance. "I just needed a few minutes away from the insanity." She gave a wry grin and shook her head. "Sorry. How are you today?"

"I am well, thank you."

"And how's your little guy?"

Teyla patted a hand on the top of her belly. "He is quite active. He seems to enjoy kicking my ribs and bouncing on my bladder."

Carter laughed. "Then it sounds like he's doing his job. Have you picked out a name?"

Teyla smiled shyly. "I have some ideas."

The radio Carter had left by the side of the pool hissed and squawked. "_Colonel Carter, this is Gipson_."

Carter's head dropped as she heaved a sigh. "Just five minutes," she moaned. Pulling herself out, she grabbed the radio. "This is Carter. What's the verdict, Corporal?"

"_It's a total loss, Ma'am. Dr. Wolfenberger says there's nothing salvageable here_."

"Understood." Carter used her free hand to rub a temple. "I'll be right there."

"_Due respect, Ma'am, unless you want to get filthy cleaning up this mess, there isn't much else you can do_."

Carter huffed a laugh. "I appreciate your candor, Corporal. Call if you need me."

"_Yes, Ma'am. Gipson out_."

Dropping the radio on the moss green textured stone that ringed the pool, Carter slid back into the water until she was completely submerged. When she finally surfaced again, she looked more exhausted than Teyla had seen her in some time.

Teyla turned to face her fully. "What has happened?"

"Some kind of electrical fire in the kitchen area." Carter waved off Teyla's concern. "Under control now, but all the food has been destroyed or contaminated with fire retardant. The Daedalus is on its way back to Earth, and the Apollo and Odyssey are on assignment in the Milky Way. With Midway destroyed, we have no way of getting supplies here quickly."

"Our trading partners?" Teyla inquired.

"We are in the process of contacting all of them. Fruits, vegetables, and grains shouldn't be a problem, but meat might be. As you know, the Elarans were destroyed by the Replicators. Redman's team reported a couple of months ago that most of the Talizian's herd drowned in massive flooding. And the last time I tried speaking to the Pablei, they cut the connection when they realized I wasn't Dr. Weir. Apparently they think I usurped her position and refuse to talk with us until she returns."

Teyla winced at the reminder – loyalty was a complex issue in Pegasus – and considered the dilemma. Other than Ronon, few on Atlantis knew how to hunt wild game. In the past, her people would have willingly done it, but without them… She shook off the thought, refusing to place her personal concerns above the expedition. Mentally running through possible partners, she discarded the first few due to recent cullings or poor trade practices. Then she smiled.

"I know of a people who might be willing to trade. They are ranchers with an abundance of livestock, at least the last time I was there. It has been many years so they too may have been culled or destroyed in a Replicator attack."

"Who are they?" Carter asked, twisting the ends of her hair to wring the water out.

"Their world is called Beracca."

Frowning, Carter sat on the pool step and cocked her head. "I don't recall reading about them. Have we traded with them before?"

"No, they have a unique negotiating style that is quite tedious. Dr. Weir and I chose to establish treaties with cultures more easily dealt with."

"Do you have any kind of relationship with them?"

Teyla smiled fondly. "My father took me to every negotiation we had with them. To hone my patience, he said. But, as I mentioned earlier, it has been many years. When I was there last, Hoyana Lippabre was their _doca_."

"Doca?"

"Doca is the designation of their leader. Those who wish to lead go through a series of trials. The person with the most success is named the doca. He or she leads the Beraccan governing council of eight for five years. Then the trials are held again."

Carter bit her lip as her brows drew together. "So someone else could be Doca now."

"It's possible. However, my last visit to Beracca was to celebrate Hoyana Lippabre's ascent to Doca. She was young but very shrewd."

"Would you feel comfortable negotiating with them?"

"If you are asking if I fear going off-world, the answer is no. However, John-"

"I will make sure Colonel Sheppard understands the necessity of you going," Carter assured her.

"I believe Dr. McKay will be needed as well."

Carter's eyes widened. "Rodney? Really?"

"Really," Teyla said with a smile. "As I said, they have a unique negotiating style."

"Let's set a mission briefing for 0900 tomorrow. Can you put something together?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." Glancing at the radio, Carter heaved a sigh. "I guess my time is up." Standing, she dripped her way out of the pool, tossing a towel around her neck. "Need a hand?"

Teyla hovered at the bottom of the steps, trying to pull her ungainly body upward. With a sigh, she extended a hand. "I would be very appreciative."

xxx

"What do we know about this world?" John slung one arm over the back of his chair as he slurped his coffee.

"They are fair traders with quality stock." Teyla opened the report she had prepared and cued the proper section up on the wall display. "They are known for their hospitality and excellent cuisine. However, some negotiations have lasted for weeks."

"Why so long?" Carter asked. "Are they that difficult?"

"On the contrary, they are quite amiable." Teyla paused, searching for the proper analogy. "I understand that children on Earth play a staring game: whoever blinks first loses. The Beraccans have a similar practice to begin negotiations. Whoever stops talking first loses the favorable bargaining position. Discussions take place during daylight hours."

Rodney glanced up from his tablet. "Do they have something against talking at night?"

"No, but they believe that light attracts the Wraith. Once the suns set, all activity ceases. No fires can be lit, no lights used, not even the stargate."

Rolling his eyes, McKay starchly announced, "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"More ridiculous than the Warivians who tried to kill us for wearing black?" John asked.

"Yes, and they were only trying to kill _you_," Rodney said pointedly.

"More ridiculous than the people on the mud planet who thought Ronon was going to eat them?" John shot back.

"Sometimes _I_ think Ronon is going to eat us." McKay ducked as Ronon tossed a stylus at his head.

John crossed his arms and leaned back. "More ridiculous than the Lineesons who thought blue eyes were a sign of mental illness?"

"Point taken." Rodney turned to Teyla. "It's the second most ridiculous thing I've heard. The Wraith don't need light to cull a planet."

Teyla bit the inside of her lip, the same spot she always bit when she needed to maintain a calm exterior. Drawing a deep breath, she replied, "I am aware of that, Rodney. It does not change the fact that the Beraccans believe it and forbid light to be used."

"I cannot possibly go," Rodney proclaimed. "I have entirely too much to do to be stranded on some superstitious, backwater planet for days."

Carter leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You don't understand, McKay. You're doing the talking."

Rodney choked, Ronon looked stunned, and John spewed coffee. "What?" they chorused.

Teyla exchanged an amused glance with Carter before answering. "As is noted in the brief, the favored negotiating position is granted to the side that does not stop talking."

"Are you implying that I talk too much?" Rodney huffed.

Ronon snorted. "Yes."

Teyla sent an icy glare Ronon's way. "We are acknowledging one of your special skills, Rodney," she soothed. "You are knowledgeable on many topics."

"But I don't negotiate," McKay protested. "I don't even listen when you do."

She bit her lip again, drawing blood this time. "You will not actually be negotiating."

"But Sam said-"

"You must outtalk them, but you can speak on any subject. After they admit defeat, I will be the negotiator."

"He can talk about anything?" John asked weakly.

"Anything," Teyla said.

Ronon groaned, "We'll never leave."

"We could let you do it instead," McKay retorted. "It should take, oh, five minutes or so for you to exhaust all your topics of conversation."

"That's enough, kids." John chided before facing Carter. "Anything else we need to know?"

"We sent a MALP before this meeting," Carter answered. "Mild climate, breathable atmosphere with nominal pollutants, no unusual energy readings, a local population of just over two thousand."

"Okay then." John said. "Let's go let Rodney talk them to death."

"Oh. Ha." McKay's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Is that your idea of a sense of humor?"

John smirked at him as he pushed away from the table. "At least I've got one. Gear up. We'll meet in the gate room in twenty minutes. Don't forget your toothbrush."

xxx

A gentle breeze wrapped around Teyla, caressing her face and teasing her hair, as they stepped through the gate. She inhaled deeply, smiling at the heavy scent of animal dung that hung in the air, and waited for the comment.

"Oh, my God." McKay's entire face crinkled in disgust. "What is that smell?"

Teyla laughed to herself as John and Rodney began their standard bickering. The locations and circumstances might change, but the conversations were almost always the same. Lifting her face to the twin suns as the sniping faded into the background, she basked in the joy of being off-world – walking through a field, watching the trees dance in the wind, listening to birds chatter. She loved Atlantis and her people, but the past few months had left her Athosian heart crying for land.

The Beraccan village was a short walk, by Athosian standards, down a wide dirt path through a meadow and a small orchard. They had arrived in late afternoon, and she estimated they had only a few short hours before the suns set.

As they entered the grove, McKay skirted the heavy laden fruit trees. "Is that citrus?"

"No," Teyla answered, swatting at Ronon when he tried to pull one that had ripened to a splendid auburn. "These are called _delgrica_. They may look like oranges, but they are more like bananas." Straightening the lapels of her black duster of supple _dollok_ skin and smoothing her hair, she studied her teammates as they neared the Beraccan settlement.

Ronon wore his typical sleeveless shirt and _skirsk_ hide pants with his blaster strapped to his thigh and untold knives hidden on his person. She could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the same tension always there when they gated off-world. He continuously scanned the area around them, occasionally checking the skies.

Face buried in a scanner, Rodney wore his backpack over his tac vest which was over his leather jacket and t-shirt. Sweat poured down his face as he ranted about hiking in the tropics and backward cultures with no technology. But under all the bluster, she could see the insecurity, the fear he would fail them.

John carried himself more casually but every bit as alertly as Ronon even while he teased Rodney. The insults not only spurred Rodney to do his best, they seemed to relax him, giving his mind something to focus on. Dressed in his tac vest, standard black uniform shirt, and BDUs, John held his P-90 at ready. His eyes never stopped moving.

Teyla's heart swelled with pride and love for them. They were good men – loyal, brave, and honorable, even if they acted like children on occasion. She hadn't missed them drawing close around her when they stepped out of the cover of the orchard. At one time she might have been insulted by it, but now she was touched by the depth of their concern for her. She ghosted a hand over her swollen abdomen as she imagined the man her son would become with such men to guide him – smart, strong, dedicated. And irreverent, sharp-tongued, and stubborn.

Livestock dotted the gentle rolling hills of green that led from the _delgrica_ orchard toward the village. Tall enough to reach her waist, the animals – known as _venga_ – had stubby legs, ears that drooped past their round faces and long snouts, and short fur that was spotted shades of brown; they were the primary source of income for the Beraccans. The meat was tasty and easy to cure while the hides, when tanned properly, were not only warm but waterproof.

As they crested the last hill, the Beraccan town lay before them – small wooden cottages in a grid of perfect squares. A winding river ran behind it, irrigating the fields that stretched to the base of the mountain range several kilometers in the distance. Children shrieked with laughter as they chased each other amongst the homes, tiny animals with long skinny bodies and bushy tails yipping at their heels. Adults chatted with each other while they whittled, hung laundry, tended flower gardens, and performed other daily chores. Teyla sucked in a breath as an overwhelming wave of homesickness crashed over her.

"You okay?" John asked quietly.

"I am- I will be fine," Teyla said with a wan smile.

"Teyla…" Concern filled Sheppard's face. "Tell me the truth."

"I miss my people," she confessed.

John glanced from her to the village and back as comprehension dawned. "Oh. Sorry. I should have realized."

Ronon nudged her shoulder gently, and Rodney gave her a sad smile.

"Please do not concern yourselves for me. I miss them, but I will be fine. I have not yet given up hope of finding them." Teyla met each man's eyes. "Now, we have a treaty to negotiate."

Teyla strode purposefully into the village, navigating the narrow streets until she reached the center of town. The council and trade chambers stood at least three stories above all the other buildings. A short set of steps led to the main entrance – two wide wooden doors painted a cheery yellow set against walls of vibrant red. Five women and three men dressed in short jackets and knee length pants of _venga_ hide and brightly colored shirts waited for them at the top.

A tall woman of average build stepped forward, her straight brown hair pulled away from her face to hang down her back. "Teyla Emmagan of Athos?"

Teyla inclined her head. "It has been many years, Hoyana Lippabre of Beracca. I am pleased to see you remain Doca."

The woman's eyes sharpened as she took in Teyla's team. "You have new friends."

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, and Ronon Dex. We have come to establish a trade agreement between our people and yours."

Hoyana arched a brow. "You no longer lead the Athosians?"

Teyla lifted her chin and said with a steady voice, "Athos has allied itself with these people, and I speak for both."

"I see." Hoyana's shrewd gaze swept over them again. "We would be honored to negotiate a treaty with the friends of Athos." Addressing John, she asked, "What do you call yourselves?"

"Lantean," he said simply.

Hoyana's eyes widened. "I have heard rumors of a powerful new people in this galaxy, ones who now inhabit the City of the Ancestors and use their technology to wage war against the Wraith."

John gave a slight smile, his face revealing nothing. "Nasty things, those rumors. Hard to know what to believe."

Hoyana grinned appreciatively. "Well said, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Welcome to Beracca. Please, enter."

At her nod, two of the other council members opened the doors, and Hoyana escorted them inside. They entered a small room adorned with a few colorful pieces of art that celebrated Beraccan life and one desk; doors led off to either side. The woman behind the desk smiled pleasantly at them then turned her attention to the two teenage boys sitting with her.

Hoyana stopped in front of the desk and faced them. "We are in the Beraccan Center for Government, Trade, and Commerce. The floors above us contain workspace for the various officials here as well as conference rooms in which our local farmers and ranchers may settle disputes amongst themselves without council involvement."

"Wow. The official tour guide spiel," McKay whispered.

Teyla hid a smile as Hoyana's right eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Rodney was the perfect choice for the pre-negotiation talkfest. He would make the Beraccan leader insane.

To Hoyana's credit, her voice never faltered. "The door to my right leads to the council chambers where all trade agreements are negotiated. To my left is a reception area for our visitors to refresh themselves." Moving gracefully to the reception room, she cracked the door to peek inside then opened it wide and beckoned them in. "Water, tea, and an assortment of fruits are provided. If you need anything, please ask. We will await you in the council chamber. Just let Mergeld," she gestured to the woman at the desk, "know when you are ready."

Rodney dropped into one of the chairs surrounding the oblong table at room's center as the door closed. "Am I going to have to talk against her?" he asked, reaching for the pitcher of water and a glass.

"That is doubtful," Teyla answered as she sank into the softness of her own chair. "She will appoint someone so that she may observe us."

Ronon straddled a chair and sampled from the trays of various fruits. "What do you think so far?"

Teyla considered the question, replaying each moment of the meeting with Hoyana in her mind. "She is excited to trade with us based on the stories she's heard about Lanteans. She has grown into her role as Doca, very confident of herself, but she was disappointed that we weren't more impressed with this building."

"I wonder where she got that idea," John muttered with a sidelong glance at McKay.

"Hey!" Rodney protested. "I told you I wasn't any good at this."

"On the contrary, your assessment rattled her which is something I am certain she isn't used to," Teyla said.

"I can really talk about anything? No matter whether they understand it or not?" Vulnerability flickered on McKay's face.

"Absolutely anything," Teyla reassured him. "In fact, it's preferable that they do not understand what you are talking about. It will erode their will to continue."

"Do we have to listen?" Ronon asked, slapping at McKay's hand as he reached for a shiny purple fruit. "That's citrus. Get something else."

Teyla chuckled at how fast Rodney jerked his hand away. "You must at least pretend to listen. No snoring, no knife sharpening, no Sudoku, no Nintendo, no iPods, no thumb wars, no computers. Need I go on?"

"I think we've got the idea." John hopped up. "Are we ready?"

"Almost," Teyla said with a sigh as she hurried to the restroom in the corner.

After they made use of the lavatory and refilled their water glasses, they notified Mergeld that they were ready to begin. The receptionist announced them to the council and waved them inside. The room was bare except for the two half-circle tables that faced each other. The council sat behind one, Hoyana in the center, leaving the other for Teyla and her teammates. A podium sat off to the side.

Teyla stood behind her chair. "Doca Lippabre, I thank you for the opportunity to begin discussions between Beracca and Lantea. Dr. Rodney McKay will be speaking for us."

Hoyana rose and inclined her head. "Welcome, delegates of Lantea. We eagerly anticipate a mutually beneficial agreement between our peoples. Kestus Sherrin will be speaking for us. As our honored guests, we invite Dr. Rodney McKay to begin. Once you have completed your first topic, Kestus will speak. When he is done, you may begin your second topic."

Rodney flicked a slightly panicked gaze at Teyla. She squeezed his arm lightly then she, Ronon, and John took their seats. Unclipping his P-90, Rodney laid it and his backpack in a chair and moved to the podium.

After taking a sip of water, McKay cleared his throat and smiled tightly. "I would like to start with a favorite topic of mine – Batman."

John coughed a laugh, and Ronon blinked in surprise. Teyla stifled a giggle at the bewildered expressions of the Beraccans as Rodney opined on the beginnings of his favorite superhero. A brilliant choice in her opinion. Not only would the Beraccans have no idea what he was talking about, he could speak on it for _days_. John turned attentive eyes to McKay, and Ronon relaxed in his seat and listened. A brilliant choice indeed.

Four hours – and six restroom breaks – later, even John's eyes were glazing over.

"And they replaced Alfred with Aunt Harriet. _Aunt Harriet_, for God's sake. What were they thinking?"

When Rodney paused for a drink of water, Hoyana leapt to her feet. "Thank you for such a thorough discussion."

McKay crossed his arms and glared. "But I'm not-"

"The suns will set shortly. Mergeld and her sons will escort you to your lodging for the night. You may begin again when the suns rise. Are you aware of our rules regarding light after nightfall?" At their nods, Hoyana smiled and inclined her head. "Food and drink will be brought to your rooms. Until tomorrow."

Teyla rose, John and Ronon following. "Until tomorrow."

John handed Rodney his P-90 and backpack. "Good God, McKay. Four hours of Batman?"

Rodney grinned at him. "Wait until I get to the multiverses."

"What's the record for the Beraccans giving up?" Ronon asked Teyla as they followed Mergeld toward a cottage on the next street. Her sons walked quietly with them, their eyes flickering from face to face as they followed the conversation.

"They concede on occasion, but I believe that is after weeks of discussion."

Ronon rolled his eyes and looked at Rodney. "Can you talk about Batman for weeks?"

"Of course not. I mean, I can talk on it for about a week, I'd guess."

"And for topic number two?" John asked. "_Star Trek_? _Star Wars_? James Bond?"

"Nuclear fission." McKay arched a brow at him. "James Bond?"

John shrugged as he climbed the cottage steps. "Cool guy with cool gadgets."

Mergeld unlocked the door and handed the key to Teyla. "The evening meal is ready. Do you require anything else?"

"No, thank you," Teyla answered.

Mergeld nodded then she and her sons disappeared into the twilight. The team stepped inside, glancing around. A sofa and several chairs were arranged in a group to the right as they entered. The scent of roasted meat, warm bread, and steamed vegetables wafted from the dining area in the back. To the left were a row of small beds and a bathroom in the corner.

"That smells so good," Rodney moaned. "I'm starving."

Teyla's mouth watered as they sat at the table. She had no idea she was so hungry until she had walked in the door. Easing into a chair, she thanked the server who filled her plate and ate heartily. Pregnancy had definitely increased her appetite. After eating their fill, they moved to the sitting area near the door, and she stretched out on the sofa while the Beraccans cleared the food and bid them goodnight. She and her teammates chatted until the room was swathed in darkness. She had missed this – time with her team without the pressures of Atlantis intruding. Something about being off-world made her teammates, and perhaps herself, a little more open and honest.

"What are we supposed to do now?" McKay muttered into the darkness.

She giggled as Ronon and John gave Rodney a few suggestions. The giggle turned into a chuckle when Ronon tripped over a chair when he rose and fell headlong into John, causing them both to crash to the floor. The chuckle became full-throated laughter as McKay tried to move out of the way and ended up in the heap with them. After several hissed curses, a few in languages she didn't know, they finally got untangled.

"If you ripped my shirt, McKay, you're gonna buy me another one," Ronon mumbled.

"Where?" McKay sniped. "At the local Wal-Mart? Do they carry Conan size?"

At Ronon's growl, John said, "Cool it, you two." He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "What's so funny, Teyla?"

She clutched her sides as tears ran down her face. "You are," she hiccupped. "I have missed this."

"What?" Rodney demanded. "Sitting in the dark getting stomped on by Satedans?"

"This," Teyla insisted, vaguely gesturing even though they could not see her. "Listening to you talk about the inane and insulting each other. Being a team."

Chairs shifted and uprighted, creaking as her teammates retook their seats.

John began chuckling. "How's that chair, big guy?"

"Hard." The smile in Ronon's voice was evident. "Almost as hard as McKay's head."

"At least I use my head for more than just growing hair, unlike the two of you," Rodney rejoined. At Ronon's snort and John's guffaws, he added, "Apparently the more the hair follicles the fewer the brain cells. Except for Teyla of course."

"Oh, of course," John laughed.

Teyla wiped her face as the chuckling finally died down. "I suppose we should get some sleep."

"Yeah," John agreed, "that would be the smart thing to do."

Rodney snickered. "That's never stopped you before."

Something about the darkness loosened the tongues of her teammates. Teyla settled into her chair, lulled by their voices, feeling more relaxed than she had in months. Speaking of things past and present, they talked long into the night.

xxx

Teyla woke early the next morning, bleary eyed but content, when her son began dancing in her womb. After tending to matters of hygiene, she tiptoed through the cottage and out the front door. Sometimes being the only morning person on the team had its advantages. A few minutes in solitary meditation on the bank of the river was exactly what her soul needed. When she returned to the small home, Mergeld's two teenage boys were leaving. They didn't seem to notice her as they rounded a corner, but their voices carried on the wind.

"Mom says we can't afford to lose again. Are you sure that it was in the right one?" the taller boy asked.

"Yes," the other one snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you that? Just be sure you do your part."

Teyla quickened her step, but when she entered the cottage she found her sleepy-faced team quietly inhaling their breakfast. Ronon grunted, Rodney waved a fork, and John offered a small smile.

"Good morning," she greeted, taking a seat.

Her plate was filled with a selection of local fruit, a small serving of grilled _venga_, and a large slice of bread topped with butter and jelly. A tall glass of milk glistened invitingly. Each plate was slightly different – Rodney had no citrus but some kind of pastry instead, John had more bread, and Ronon had a double helping of meat. Impressive. Their hosts had rapidly and accurately assessed their tastes based on last night's dinner.

Half an hour later, Mergeld arrived to escort them back to the council chambers. Villagers filled the streets as they prepared for their day, and several were gathered at the front steps of the government building including Mergeld's sons. They scrambled around Teyla in a merry chase, laughing and shoving each other. One plowed directly into Rodney.

McKay's face crinkled in irritation. "Hey! Watch where you're going."

"We didn't do anything," the boy replied. "You should apologize for being in our way."

Grimacing, Teyla waited for the eruption that never came. Rodney blinked uncertainly at them then at her. She smiled encouragingly and held her breath.

"Sorry about that," McKay muttered, a flush coloring his neck and cheeks.

The boys exchanged triumphant glances. John and Ronon had already disappeared inside, and Teyla sighed in relief. At least Rodney wouldn't be teased although his reaction puzzled her. Perhaps he was taking this negotiation seriously.

When a large man blocked her way, the boys surged close to McKay, whispering. Rodney looked annoyed at first, but his expression slowly morphed into fear. When his eyes flicked to her, she shoved her way past the locals to his side.

"… not your friends," a boy hissed. "They are going to kill you. Leave while you can."

"That is enough," Teyla snapped. "Be on your way."

The teens scampered away, the taller of the two tossing one last satisfied look their direction. Rodney had pressed himself to the side of the building, his chin tucked to his chest and his body trembling.

"What is wrong, Rodney?" Teyla asked.

He didn't answer, inching away from her instead.

She blocked his path and lifted his chin, gasping when she saw his eyes. His pupils were completely blown, the blue irises almost nonexistent. Sweat dripped from his nose onto her wrist. He exuded a sickly sweet smell that she had never noticed from him before, and his breath came in shallow pants.

"Rodney?"

"Don't hurt me, please." He shuddered, his eyes impossibly wide. "Please," he whispered.

"I would never hurt you. Tell me what is wrong."

McKay slid out of her touch then darted down the stairs and around the corner. Teyla gaped after him and took a step to follow but decided John and Ronon stood a better chance of catching Rodney than she did.

"John, Ronon, this is Teyla. I need you outside."

The answer came immediately. "_Be right there_."

Ronon ducked into the morning sun with John on his heels. "What's up?"

"Something is wrong with Rodney."

"More than usual?"

She frowned at Ronon. "I am not sure if he is ill or…"

Both men lost all traces of humor. "Or what, Teyla?" John asked.

"I think he has been drugged."

John reached for his comm. "McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in." Concern flitted across his face. "Answer me, Rodney."

Ronon pulled his blaster and set it to stun. "Where'd he go?"

Teyla pointed out the corner Rodney had disappeared around, and the two men dashed off. She took a step in that direction but stopped when she heard her name. Turning, she found Hoyana and Mergeld approaching with the teenagers in tow.

Mergeld's face was crimson, and she pushed the taller boy forward. "My son has something to say to you."

The boy ducked his head. "We played a prank on your friend. Sorry."

"What have you done?" Teyla demanded.

Hoyana nodded to Mergeld who snatched both boys by the collar and hauled them away. "It seems the boys felt we needed help to win the opening discussions." The Doca sighed and looked away. "We have a plant that grows above the tree line. When ingested, it produces a… heightened suggestibility. Our children have discovered a way to dry it and grind it to powder in order to spike food and drink, like the pastry on your friend's plate. The effect is temporary and mild – the worst that's happened is dancing on a table during lunch at school."

Teyla straightened to her full height and set her jaw. "You mean the worst that you know of."

"I suppose that's possible, but in the cases I've seen, the effect is usually not much more than overindulging a bit." Hoyana sighed. "I assure you the boys meant no real harm to your friend. We have…struggled during the past few negotiations, and our economy is in a downturn. They were merely trying to help in the only way they could think of," she said. "Of course, we will end the talks immediately and give you the stronger bargaining position."

"Yes, you will. However, this prank could have severe consequences. My friend is not from here and has serious allergies. We must find him and take him home immediately. Negotiations will have to wait."

"Certainly. Allow us to assist in the search."

"If your people see him, please have them notify one of us rather than approach him. Also, I would like a sample of the plant so our doctors can analyze it."

"I will have it brought at once." Hoyana inclined her head and went inside.

Teyla tapped her comm. "John, have you found him?"

"_Nothing. He must have been paying more attention to those survival lessons than I thought. We can't find a trace of him_."

"Is there any way to track him?"

"_I have a life signs detector, but it isn't tuned to pick up sub-cu transmissions. McKay has the rest of the equipment_."

She could hear the fear in his voice. "We will find him, John."

"_I know. It's just_..."

He trailed off, but Teyla understood. It was a big planet. Rodney was drugged, alone, scared. So many things could go wrong.

She smiled her thanks to the Beraccan who handed her a vial of white powder. "John, I have a sample of the drug. I will take it back so that Jennifer may begin work on it, and I will apprise Colonel Carter of our situation. I will return soon with a jumper."

"_Fine… just be careful. Sheppard out_."

The village and surrounding countryside no longer enchanted her as it once had. Teyla hurried from the town then attacked the hills with a vengeance, trying not to dwell on the possibility of losing another person she cared for. Beneath Rodney's sarcasm and arrogance lay a heart that had been starved for affection for too long. The change in him had been slow but remarkable. While he would never admit it, a gentle soul lay under that gruff exterior, and he had begun to open up to the people around him.

About halfway through the orchard, her spine tingled. Someone was watching her. Teyla stopped, listening with every fiber of her being. A twig snapped. She whirled toward the sound and caught a flash of black leather.

She keyed her comm. "Colonel, this is Teyla," she whispered. "I believe I have located Rodney. We are in the orchard on the path to the gate. Teyla out."

The radio clicked twice in her ear in acknowledgement.

"Rodney," she called, "it is Teyla. I know you are afraid, but I will not harm you. Please allow me to take you home."

A rustling to her right. She ducked under a limb as she stepped off the path.

"Rodney?"

"Stay away from me!" His voice echoed through the grove, unlocatable.

"Please let me help you."

Movement to the left caught her eye. She pushed through the trees, straining for a glimpse of him. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered. She squeezed into the hollow of a tree and ran her hands over her coat. No weapons. Calming her breathing, she listened carefully, finally locating Rodney's footfalls. He seemed to be heading away from her. She eased out and picked up a thick branch. A heavy thud sounded to her left, and she crept toward it.

A bullet whizzed past her ear, and bark exploded from a nearby tree. She darted behind it and scanned the area. Nothing.

"Rodney, listen to me. The drug has confused you. If-"

A muzzle pressed against her temple. "I'm not confused," he hissed. "You hate me. You want me dead. Well, I'm not going to let that happen."

Teyla cringed, berating herself for forgetting who she was dealing with – a genius who had spent over four years learning to create diversions. She turned so she could see him, the hot metal sliding across her skin, and swallowed thickly. This was not the Rodney she knew. There was no arrogance, no gentleness, no recognition. He was panicked, paranoid, seething, digging the gun into her forehead.

"I do not hate you," she said calmly. "We are friends. You must remember. Everything those boys told you is a lie. We have fought side by side for years – you and me and John and Ronon. We are a team, a family. The only family I have now. Please, Rodney."

He shook his head violently, spraying droplets of sweat. "No. No, no, no. You're pretending so you can kill me." But the gun trembled in his hand.

She let the limb slide from her fingers and closed her eyes. "I trust you, Rodney."

The pressure on her forehead eased. His ragged breathing seemed further away so she slowly opened her eyes. The gun was still pointed at her but was drooping toward her chin. Small red bumps dotted the back of his hand and disappeared under his sleeve only to emerge from his collar and spread over his face. His lips were swollen, and he was beginning to wheeze.

"Come back to Atlantis with me. Dr. Keller can help you."

Rodney wavered, the gun lowering even further. But when something crunched softly in the distance, the gun whipped back into place.

"You lied to me!" he shouted.

Teyla raised her hands defensively. "No, I didn't. Please, Rodney, please. My son…"

She stumbled backward as his finger tightened on the trigger. His eyes widened, and the gun flew from his hand when his body jerked as red energy enveloped it. But rather than sinking to the ground, he screamed in agony and staggered forward directly into her. She fell, landing awkwardly as the breath was ripped from her lungs. Wild-eyed, Rodney scrambled over her on hands and knees towards the gun, grabbing it and disappearing. Teyla clawed at the ground as she willed oxygen into her body.

"Teyla!" John lifted her shoulders and let her lean against his chest as she panted for breath. "Are you all right?"

Unable to gather enough breath to speak, she nodded.

"Where did McKay go?" Ronon asked.

Teyla waved in the general direction, and Ronon raced off. John rubbed her shoulder gently until her breathing eased. With a grateful smile, she took the hand he offered and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"You're sure you're okay?"

"I am fine," Teyla answered. "Rodney, however, is not. We must find him quickly."

"Remind me to always carry a Wraith stunner in the future."

"Agreed."

John pulled the life signs detector from a vest pocket and frowned. "Great. I've got one life sign about fifty yards from here and the other a good five hundred yards away." The display flickered and went out. "What the hell… Oh, McKay. You're good; I'll give you that."

"What is it?"

"Rodney's jamming the signal. Try your radio."

Teyla keyed her comm. "Ronon, come in." Static greeted her. "Ronon, please answer."

John's shoulders drooped. "I can't hear you calling."

"Which one do you think Rodney is?"

"I have no idea," he said. "I don't know how he would have gotten past Ronon, but I don't know why Ronon would still be this close."

Teyla reclaimed her tree branch, swinging it cautiously. "I will take the closer one." She met John's stare, cutting him off before he could begin. "Time is of the essence, John."

"I can at least tackle him. What are you planning on doing?"

She hefted the limb. "I will disarm him."

Every inch of John Sheppard screamed _no_. "Fine." He handed her his .45. "But you aren't going with just a twig. Protect yourself if you have to."

"I will not have to."

John nodded to her then hurried away. Taking a deep breath, she crept silently in the last known direction of the closer dot. After a few minutes, she swallowed a frustrated sigh. No footprints, no broken branches, not even… She gritted her teeth in irritation. She was hunting the wrong teammate.

Backtracking, she weaved through the _delgrica_ trees as she angled toward the second dot. She reached out with all her senses, but nothing compelling answered back. Then a nearby clattering of wood and a muttered curse disturbed the silence. She crept toward the noise and peered around a tree.

John was grimacing, hand rubbing a knee, as he pulled his leg from a hole that several evergreen branches and a few logs had hidden. A snap caught his attention, and he wheeled around, stumbling as his knee wobbled underneath him. Rodney was on him before he could recover, tackling him at the waist and driving him to the ground.

Teyla glanced at the weapons in her hands. She couldn't shoot Rodney, and trying to hit him with the limb would only distract John.

"McKay!" John covered his face with his arms as Rodney punched with all his might. "Stop it!"

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" Rodney screamed, swinging wildly.

"I don't want to hurt you, Rodney." John grunted as a blow landed on his temple. "Please don't make me."

"I won't let you kill me." McKay grabbed a heavy log and aimed for John's head.

John rolled at the last minute, grappling for Rodney's arms as he tried to pin the man down. But Rodney was heavier and strengthened by the drug. He shoved Sheppard away and scrabbled backward, pulling his gun.

"Get away from me!"

"Easy," John placated, his palms held up and outward. "Focus, Rodney. I'm John. We're friends, remember?"

McKay's chest heaved. "You want to kill me."

"No one wants to kill you. We only want to help."

"You- you hate me. I should have known. I don't have friends."

"Well, I do." John's voice softened. "And you're one of them."

"You're lying," Rodney hissed.

"McKay…" John scrubbed the back of his neck. "Dammit. Why would I lie?"

"Because you're trying to trick me. You think I'll come quietly. Think again. I won't let you slit my throat and leave me here to die."

John rose to one knee. "Rodney-"

"Stay away from me!" The gun shook but remained pointed at John's head.

A faint stirring in the air alerted Teyla to Ronon's presence. He moved silently to her side then grimaced. Sheppard was in his line of sight.

"Can you shoot them both?" Teyla whispered.

Ronon shook his head. "No. I'd hit Sheppard first, and McKay would run."

John grew still. "I have a brother," he said quietly. "Did I tell you that? We aren't close, never have been." He bit his lip, looked away then back. "Look, what I'm trying to say is you're, you know, more like a brother than Dave has ever been."

McKay's face whitened. "Stop lying!"

Rodney squeezed the trigger, and the shot boomed through the woods. When John dropped to the ground, Ronon fired. Red energy sizzled around Rodney, and he shrieked in pain. Another blast hit, and he fell, convulsions racking his body. John rolled to his feet as Teyla and Ronon raced toward him.

"Oh, God." John knelt, unzipping McKay's vest and jacket and loosening his collar. "Is this from the drug?"

"I don't know," Teyla replied, brushing Rodney's hair from his face as he seized. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," John answered, clenching his fists as McKay twitched and gasped weakly. "He missed."

Ronon holstered his weapon and crouched next to them. "I've never seen anyone react like this to being stunned."

Rodney went limp, his face gray, and Sheppard rolled him onto his side. "We have to get him help now," John said.

Ronon scooped McKay over his shoulder and stood. "Let's go."

They raced for the gate, and John broke into a sprint when they cleared the orchard, dialing and sending his IDC. A medical team was waiting in the control room with a gurney. Teyla thrust the vial of powder in Jennifer's hand, explained what had happened then slumped against a wall trying to catch her breath as Rodney was rushed from the room. Ronon stared after the med team while John moved to her side.

"You okay?" John asked.

Teyla smiled tiredly and nodded. She looped her arm through his then reached for Ronon's hand and held tightly to them as they made their way toward the infirmary and Rodney.

xxx

Teyla shifted again as her back spasmed. Two hours of waiting and still no word.

John perched on the arm of sofa. "Lying down in your own bed would feel better."

"Perhaps my back would feel better, but the rest of me…."

"Yeah." Sheppard's gaze flicked toward Ronon. He was jammed in a corner, glaring at doors that didn't open. "Ronon?"

Ronon gave the doors a last baleful stare then pushed away and plopped in the chair next to them. "Didn't mean to hurt him."

Teyla exchanged glances with John as she struggled into a seated position. "We do not know that you did. The drug may have caused it. It was obviously affecting his mind. I am certain that he would have shot me if you had not intervened. He barely missed John."

"About that-" John began.

"I do not think we should tell him," Teyla said. "Hopefully he will forget everything that happened, and informing him would serve no purpose."

"Agreed. We don't say anything about what happened in the orchard. To anyone."

Ronon nodded slowly. "What do you want to say was the reason I stunned him?"

John shrugged. "The truth. It was the only way to subdue him and get him home."

The infirmary doors slid open. Keller smiled grimly as she walked over to them. Sheppard and Ronon hopped up and met her halfway.

"How is he, Doc?" John asked.

"Not good. His body chemistry is out of whack, and his blood pressure is all over the place. I can't chance giving him anything until we finish our analysis on the drug he was given. Right now, all we can do is give him saline to keep him hydrated."

Ronon crossed and uncrossed his arms. "Can we see him?"

Keller's face scrunched up. "Only for a minute. He's not in any shape to have visitors, and you three need to get something to eat and some rest."

They followed Keller through the infirmary to the critical care area. The silence was broken by the various beeps and whooshes of medical equipment hidden behind a privacy curtain. Jennifer grabbed the curtain then hesitated, turning to face them again. "You need to prepare yourselves. We've had to take precautions against him injuring himself or someone else."

When she pulled back the curtain, John inhaled sharply, Ronon growled low in his throat, and Teyla's legs grew wobbly. Rodney's wrists and ankles were encased in thick black cuffs, and an oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose. The rest of his face was swollen, and the small red bumps had mushroomed into raised splotches. His eyes were wide, panicked, darting around in confusion. When he spotted them, he began to thrash wildly, bucking and twisting in the restraints, his screams muffled by the mask.

"Out. Now!" Keller snapped, whipping the privacy curtain closed in their faces.

They stood there, stunned, staring at the pale fabric that separated them from McKay. Alarms sounded, and they were shoved to the side as medical personnel descended. Ronon dropped in a chair, his head in his hands, while John paced in a tight circle as he carded his fingers through his hair. Teyla leaned against the wall with her hands braced on the small of her back. After a few minutes, Keller emerged.

"We've got him calmed down, but there's really nothing you can do right now so please go get some lunch. I'll let you know when you can see him again."

John's jaw worked silently for a second. "Doc-"

"We are doing everything we can. With a little luck the drug will metabolize soon. We've almost finished our analysis of it so we may find a way to help him. Either way, Rodney will need you – all of you – and he'll need you healthy." Keller held each person's eye for a second then disappeared behind the curtain again.

"The lady's right," John said finally. "Come on."

After a quick meal she didn't taste and a wordless nod to her teammates, Teyla headed back to her quarters. She took a hot shower then eased into the rocker Jeannie had so thoughtfully given her, intending to merely rest for a minute. She was dismayed to discover that night had fallen when she awoke. Wrapping up in the shawl Elizabeth left her, she debated on which excuse she would use as she hurried to the infirmary. Pregnancy had its privileges. But she should have known better. When she arrived, she found a small seating area had been set up near Rodney's bed. A sofa, two chairs, a table, and a reading lamp graced an out-of-the-way spot that was still close enough to the privacy curtain for them to hear if anything was wrong. Ronon was sprawled in one chair, hands folded on his chest and ankles crossed, while John hunched in the other one with his chin on his fists. Jennifer was watching from the doorway of her office, and Teyla walked to her.

"Did you do this?"

Keller lifted a shoulder. "I've learned that it's easier to keep the four of you together."

"Has there been any change?"

"No. Rodney finally fell asleep a couple of hours ago. He's still pretty freaked out."

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"We've finished the analysis, and we've started him on a broad range of antihistamines, but I don't think any of them will work. He's going to have to fight this one himself." Jennifer ran a professional eye over her. "How are you feeling?"

"I am fine. I do not believe the rest of us were dosed. Dealing with Rodney was emotionally draining, but physically I am well."

"Marie ran labs on you three, and the results were negative for the drug, but if you feel the slightest bit off, I want you to tell me. No matter how insignificant it may be. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." A huge yawn overtook Keller, and she smiled sheepishly. "I think it's time I got some rest. Dr. Donnelly is here, and she'll let me know if anything else changes. Rodney's in good hands."

"I know he is. Thank you for all you've done."

"Goodnight, Teyla."

"Goodnight."

Moving back to the seating area, Teyla curled up on the sofa and joined the vigil.

xxx

The odd sensation of her son flipping and wiggling inside her woke Teyla in the early morning hours. She pushed up on an elbow and was massaging a muscle in her stiff neck when she heard a soft groan from behind the curtain. John and Ronon were asleep so she got to her feet and slipped over to Rodney's bed. When she peeked behind the curtain, she found Rodney staring back at her, his eyes terrified. She took a step back then stopped when he called her name.

"Rodney?"

He mouthed her name again and jerked weakly against the restraints, panic filling his features.

She hurried to him and placed her hands on each side of his face. "Look at me. Do you remember me?"

His face screwed up in his most indignant expression, and he nodded.

Teyla grinned crazily at him as she pressed the call button. "The doctor will be here in a minute." When he tugged again at the restraints, she stroked his cheek and used her calmest tone. "You've been ill. The restraints were for your protection. We will remove them as soon as we can."

"Now." Even the oxygen mask couldn't muffle the fear in his voice.

When the doctor arrived, she scanned the monitors then said, "Please give us a moment."

"Of course," Teyla replied.

"No. No, Teyla, don't go," Rodney pleaded, struggling. "Please."

"I will be on the other side of the curtain, Rodney," Teyla said. "John and Ronon are there, too. As soon as Dr. Donnelly is finished examining you, we'll be back. Okay?"

Rodney gave a tiny nod. "Okay."

Teyla ducked out and plowed straight into Ronon's chest. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

She smiled in delight. "He is awake, and he recognized but did not fear me."

"How'd he look?" John asked.

"Better. The splotches have diminished a little, and he is calmer."

An alarm began to wail, and John pushed past her to throw open the curtain. Rodney was convulsing again. The doctor and two nurses revolved around him, injecting medicines in his IV, their eyes glued to the monitors. Rodney's body twitched a final time then went still.

John swallowed thickly. "Is he…"

"He's unconscious, Colonel." Donnelly peeled off her gloves then joined them, closing the curtain.

"I do not understand," Teyla said. "He seemed better."

"Let's sit down." Donnelly headed for the sofa without waiting for them. When they were seated, she began. "Rodney is allergic to something in that drug that we can't identify. The initial effects have worn off which is why he was comfortable with you being there, Teyla, but his body is struggling to metabolize it."

"What does that mean?" Ronon asked.

Donnelly's expression was grim. "The strain on his body is wearing him down. Toxins are building in his blood stream."

"And that means…." Teyla prompted.

"It means after a few days his organs will begin to shut down unless we can find a way to cleanse the toxins from his system."

"Surely there must be something you can do," John protested. "Some kind of Ancient tech that can fix this."

"We have lots of scanners and diagnostic equipment, but we haven't found the magic treasure trove that cures all ills yet. I wish we had." Donnelly raked her fingers through her hair. "We aren't giving up, but right now the best bet he has is to keep fighting it."

"What can we do?" Teyla asked.

"Be there for him. Keep him focused on getting better. Don't let him give up."

"You got it, Doc," John said. "We won't let him die."

xxx

By unspoken arrangement, they took shifts sitting with him – Teyla in the morning, Ronon during the afternoon, John at night. As the days wore on, Rodney's wakeful periods grew shorter, and one by one his organs failed. The splotches disappeared, and his pale skin became almost translucent, making the tubes and wires that ran from him look all the more invasive. But his fingers tightened around hers when she sang. Then one day they didn't.

"He slipped into a coma last night," Jennifer whispered.

Teyla brushed the tears from her face before she turned. "Does that mean there is no hope left?"

"There's always hope. Rodney is fighting with everything he's got. He may still beat this."

"Can he hear us?"

Keller adjusted with a couple of monitor settings. "Yes, I really think he can."

Teyla gripped his hand tightly and leaned forward. "You must not give up, Rodney. You are necessary. Not just your skills and your knowledge, but you. I know you are tired, but you must fight this." She stroked her thumb across his knuckles. "Please, Rodney."

He gave no indication that he heard her. She settled back in her chair, still holding his hand, and began singing the first of the harvest blessings.

xxx

The next morning when she arrived, John was sitting next to McKay's bed, his arms across his chest. She didn't realize he was talking until she was right behind him.

"… hear me? You survived the Genii, the Wraith, the Replicators, and you're gonna survive this. So quit goofing off." John leaned forward. "Ronon found your chocolate stash… Radek rearranged your office… Carter has offered Kavanagh a position here… Dammit, McKay!" John's head dropped. "Don't do this, Rodney, please. I can't lose one more… I just- I can't…"

Teyla moved away silently and wandered down the hallway to Keller's office. Jennifer was slumped over, her head pillowed on her hand, new lines etched on her face. Turning, Teyla made her way back to ICU. John glanced up when she entered and offered a tired smile.

"Hey, Teyla."

"Good morning, John. How is he?"

"The same. He's, uh, he's…."

"He's strong," Teyla reminded him, "and maybe a little stubborn."

John chuckled softly. "A little?"

"Perhaps more than a little, but it will serve him well." She squeezed his shoulder. "Go get some sleep.

He nodded wearily, patted her hand, and left. Teyla straightened Rodney's top sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles, and combed his hair.

"Good morning, Rodney." She washed his face with a damp cloth as she told him of the discovery Radek had made the day before. "Colonel Carter says the device shows real promise." Teyla turned his right wrist over and gently stretched his fingers. "She believes it may be somehow related to ZPM construction. She and Dr. Zelenka-"

Rodney's fingers tightened around hers. Teyla blinked, hope warring with uncertainty. She laid his hand flat on the bed.

"She and Dr. Zelenka have been searching the database for a match on the design..."

His hand twitched.

Teyla blinked away tears and swallowed thickly. "Colonel Carter thinks that section of the city warrants further exploration. Dr. Coleman is heading up the research team."

Rodney's fingers curled into a fist.

Teyla reached for the call button. "Rodney, can you hear me?"

His hand twitched again.

xxx

Days passed before Rodney came fully out of the coma. Eventually he was taken off dialysis and the ventilator. The day he was transitioned to solid foods was a happy day for all, especially the infirmary staff. After a pre-natal visit, Teyla dropped by to see how he was doing. She found him munching on some _alba_ nuts and frowning at his laptop.

"Good afternoon, Rodney. How are you today?"

"Awful. My sister is thinking of having another baby, Tunney has been awarded the Wolf Prize, and the Giants beat the Patriots in the Superbowl. Can you imagine?"

She smiled indulgently. "Shocking."

"Yes, well…" He glanced up at her and sighed. "I don't really care for American football, but I had a sizeable bet on that game. It was supposed to be easy money. Why do I listen to Sheppard? Don't answer that."

"I would not dream of it. I was headed to the cafeteria. Would you like something?"

"No, thanks." His ears pinked, and he scanned the room cautiously. "Do you, um, have a minute?"

"Of course."

"I, uh, I keep having this dream. I'm standing in a bunch of trees, and you're there. And I have a gun pointed at you."

"It is only a dream, Rodney."

"That's just it. I don't think it is. It doesn't feel like a dream. It feels real."

"What happens in your dream?"

"You're talking, but I can't understand what you're saying. I point the gun, and it ends."

"As you can see, I am fine."

"Did I try to kill you?"

"Rodney-"

"Don't lie to me. I looked up the mission report. It says Ronon had to stun me in order to subdue me."

"That's right."

"That's a crock of shit. We both know it would take a lot less than that for him or Sheppard to subdue me."

She schooled her features carefully, the image of John falling as the gunshot sounded replaying in her mind. "What else do you remember?"

"Isn't that enough?" His eyes were wide, pleading. "I'm so sorry. I would never-"

"Rodney, you did nothing wrong," Teyla assured him as relief flooded through her. "Anything that might have happened was a result of the drug in your system."

"I could have killed you." His gaze skittered away. "And your son," he whispered.

"But you didn't. I am safe and well as are you and John and Ronon. No one blames you for anything. Do not let it concern you." She rubbed his arm lightly until he nodded.

"Okay." Rodney stared at his hands for a moment. "Do you think I can guilt Ronon into giving me his dessert for a while?"

Teyla laughed. "Probably, but he will catch on eventually. I'd offer mine, but I am eating for two now, you know."

"I noticed. You get bigger every day."

"Rodney McKay! I will tell your sister you said that."

"She lives three million light years from here."

"One day I will no longer be pregnant. Perhaps we should continue this discussion in the gym then."

"Oh. Uh oh."

"Uh oh?" Sheppard echoed as he and Ronon entered bearing lunch trays. "What's wrong now?"

"Rodney was just telling me how much he's looking forward to restarting his sparring lessons with Ronon when he's released."

"Aw, Teyla, come on. That's just mean." Rodney raked an eye over the lunch trays. "Is that Salisbury steak?"

Teyla shook her head as John arranged the chairs and Ronon handed out the food, giving an extra dessert to Rodney. She nibbled on a roasted _venga_ leg, thankful Lorne's team had finished the negotiations, and sighed happily, content to spend time with her team.

* * *

_Written for the Fall 2008 Fic Exchange on the sgahcchallenges LJ comm. Many thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	9. Aja

_A/N: No spoilers but is based on backstory established in The Shrine_

**Aja**

"Aja!"

Tarius Dex kneels as the youngest of his twelve grandchildren launches into his arms. He stands, swooping Ronon through the air and grinning at the small boy's giggles. "You seem unusually happy today, small one."

"It's my Celebration Day."

"Is it?"

"Oh, Aja, you know it is. I'm finally six. I've wanted to be six _forever_."

Tarius ruffles Ronon's hair as he sets the boy down and allows himself to be tugged inside. The small apartment is neat and tidy as always. "You will be old like me before you know it."

Ronon looks horrified. "Really?"

"I hope so," he whispers when Ronon bounds to the kitchen to inform his mother Tarius has arrived.

His son, Brayl, had been culled before Ronon had been born, leaving Esadra to raise the boy and his three brothers alone. Tarius visits as often as he can, but his taskmaster duties keep him away for weeks at a time.

The scent of baking _dreshan_ cakes that wafts from the kitchen dredges up memories of his beloved Anisa preparing the treats for Brayl, Sanut, and Laron. Unexpected tears sting as a wave of sorrow washes over him. No one should outlive their children.

"Aja?" Ronon hangs over the back of the sofa, blinking solemnly at him. "You okay?"

Tarius smiles fondly. "Yes, boy, I'm fine."

"Mama says we can't have any cake until after dinner. That's _hours_ from now."

He pulls Ronon into his lap, tickling him mercilessly. "Hours, is it?"

Ronon shrieks with laughter, squirming to get away. When Tarius releases him, the boy lies still until he catches his breath then lays his head on Tarius' shoulder.

"I love you, Aja," Ronon murmurs into his chest.

"I love you, too, Ronon." Tarius holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his spine and praying for blessings on this little life. "Do you still have the whet stone I gave you?"

"Mm hmm." Ronon hops off and runs from the room, returning seconds later with the blue-black rock wrapped in _skirsk_ hide. "Here it is."

Tarius' hands drop to his sides. "How many knives can you find?"

Ronon's eyes light up. He reverently sets the rock on the side table then rakes his gaze over Tarius before climbing back on the sofa. Tarius sits still as little hands card through his hair, locating both knives hidden there. Ronon finds the saber machete between Tarius' shoulder blades, the dagger in his boot, both knives on his belt, and the skinning knife in his shirt pocket.

"How'd I do?"

"Not bad." Tarius stands and pulls the other four knives he has hidden and lays them on the table with the others. "What did I tell you?"

Ronon frowns at the knives he'd missed. "Make some so obvious they can't be missed and others so obscure they'll never be found," he recites.

Tarius smiles in approval. "Very good. Now, pick one."

"For what?"

"For you. It is my gift to you on your Celebration Day."

Wide-eyed, Ronon stares at the collection of knives. "Really? One for my very own?"

"Yes. You are six now, responsible enough to have a weapon, but remember what I told you – it's not a toy, and it is to never-"

"-be used except to defend myself or someone I love. I remember, Aja." Ronon's gaze sweeps over the blades, his hand hovering over a curved silver knife with intricate etchings. "I can really have any one I choose?"

"Any one of them."

Tarius knows which one Ronon will choose, had known when he'd hidden the knives on his body. The curved blade Ronon is drooling over has been in the Dex family for centuries. It is rumored to have lanced a Wraith heart, an unproven myth but one that has inspired generations of Dexes to fight like it could.

Ronon's small fingers close over the hilt, and he hugs the weapon to his chest. "This one. Thank you, Aja."

"You are welcome." Tarius shows Ronon how to hang it securely on his belt then pats his shoulder. "Now, we must hurry if we are to get in our tracking lesson before dinner."

Ronon grins in excitement and runs to tell Esadra goodbye while Tarius tucks away the knives and fires the engine of his vehicle. They spend the hour it takes to leave the city chatting about Ronon's school lessons and arguing about whether the Greloks or the Dargunds is the better _strillyeran_ team. The deeper into the countryside they go, the stiller and quieter Ronon becomes.

Tarius parks at the turnout and gives Ronon a quick glance. "What is the most important rule in tracking?"

Ronon stands straight, lifting his chin. "Be as prepared as possible before beginning the hunt. If you do not know your prey's strengths and weaknesses, know your own."

"Are you prepared?"

"Yes, Aja." Ronon pulls a small canteen from one pocket and a handful of _helsun_ jerky from the other.

Tarius keeps his features schooled to neutral but is bursting with pride on the inside. "Then let's begin."

An hour passes then two as they creep silently through the woods. The animals that live here are harmless and plentiful. Tracks are scarce at first, but they multiply in variety and depth near the river.

Ronon kneels at the base of a tree, studying a mixture of _helsun_ and _skirsk_ tracks. Suddenly his head pops up, his incredibly sharp hearing catching the crunch of undergrowth a second before Tarius hears it. Ronon's eyes narrow, intensify as he searches the area for his prey. And in that moment, Tarius sees the man his grandson will become.

The round cheeks that still hold the last vestiges of baby fat harden into the sculpted planes of a man's face. The smile that is missing a tooth morphs into a feral snarl. Eyes that sparkle with excitement dim with loss and hatred. Small hands turn powerful, and legs become long and lean.

Tarius blinks and the image disappears, leaving a small boy, knife in hand, moving stealthily toward the brown animal that is slinking into view. Ronon steps forward silently. The _helsun_ twitches, raises its head, sniffs the air. Ronon steps again, the thrill of the hunt evident on his face. The _helsun_ freezes then scampers away.

Ronon's shoulders droop. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. It sensed something was amiss."

"How?"

"Good instincts. They are necessary for survival."

Ronon nods thoughtfully. "Can they be learned?"

"Somewhat. Mostly you learn to perfect them."

The boy turns the knife over and over in his hands then tucks it in his belt. "How?"

Tarius chuckles. "You are full of questions today."

"I want to be a warrior like you when I get big." Ronon's eyes are fiery. "To kill Wraith."

"You will, Ronon. You will." Tarius feels a million years old, crushed by a universe that disregards childhood and rips life from the young. "But for today, be six." He tousles the boy's hair and puts an arm around his shoulders. "Now, let's get you home so we can have dinner and some _dreshan_ cake."

"Okay."

As they head back to the city, Tarius keeps one eye on the road and the other on Ronon as the boy sings the hunting ballads of old. Tarius will be thankful later for the glimpse of the man Ronon will become, the man Tarius will never know. But right now, he is thankful for six year-olds and Celebration Days.

* * *

_Written for the kidfic challenge on sgaflashfic. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. _


	10. Shield of Protection

_A/N: spoilers through The Shrine_

**Shield of Protection**

John eased into the pilot's chair and trailed his fingers over the console. The jumper was like no other aircraft he'd ever flown – the tingle in his spine when he mentally connected to it, the power he could unleash with a thought. To be technical, all of the functions could be performed by hand, but controlling the jumper with his mind was effortless. And one hell of a rush.

He ran through preflight automatically – checking power levels, communications, weapons, supply stores – a smile playing on his lips when bickering voices echoed in the bay and boots tromped up the ramp.

"…out of spite. You know it's my favorite."

"Is it?" Ronon flashed a blue-stained grin at Sheppard. "I forgot."

"Liar." Rodney collapsed in his seat with a huff. "Ronon took the last blue jello," he grumbled.

"Perhaps not the last." Teyla handed a foil-topped plastic cup to McKay.

A shy smile crept over Rodney's face. "Thanks," he said, tucking the cup in his pack before spearing Ronon with his patented Glare of Doom. "Touch it and die."

Ronon snorted derisively then looked hopefully at Teyla. "Got anything for me?"

John turned back to the controls when Flight gave them permission to depart, not missing the swish of foil as it sailed from behind his head.

The wrapper crinkled as Ronon tore it open. "Mmm. Cherry."

The bay doors retracted, and the jumper rose and rotated on John's command, gently dropping into the gateroom.

"Pop tarts, too?" Rodney twisted in his seat. "Where are you hiding all that food?"

Amusement thickened Teyla's voice. "A woman never reveals her secrets."

The event horizon shimmered invitingly, and a little ripple of anticipation shot through John as they plunged in.

"Oh, wow."

Rodney's awed whisper spoke for them all. Jagged peaks of white and purple surrounded them, some etched sharply against a brilliant blue sky and others disappearing into a hazy mist of clouds. John banked gently to get a look behind them. The stargate hovered, _hovered_ at the top of a stunning waterfall that fed a river which twisted through the mountain range and out of sight. Wildflowers in a riot of colors filled the valley and met the edge of a forest of teal firs that climbed the foothills.

The HUD flickered then coalesced.

"Unless this planet doesn't experience much climate change, it seems we've arrived in late spring," John said. "Time to find that outpost, McKay."

John swooped lazily through mountain peaks that made the Himalayas look like speed bumps, marveling at the sheerness of the cliffs. Not even the bravest climber would attempt these.

"Got something," Rodney announced as the HUD's display changed. "Oh, um, just ignore that. Let's see…"

Frowning, John scrolled back through the read-outs. "I thought this world was uninhabited."

"Well, the database is ten thousand years out of date. Besides, those life signs are like two hundred kilometers from here. They'll never know."

"You know our standard procedure is to make nice with the locals before we start digging through the Ancient tech on their planet."

A heavy sigh from behind caught John's attention. Ronon slumped in his chair, arms folded on his chest. "You, too, big guy?"

"Negotiating is boring."

Whining was not attractive in Satedans.

"You'd rather spend the afternoon alone with McKay exploring an Ancient lab?"

"There's an insult in there somewhere, isn't there?" Rodney huffed.

"Yes," Ronon answered. "Besides," he pulled a roll of gray tape from his coat pocket, "Zelenka says duct tape is the answer to everything."

McKay glowered at him. "You wouldn't dare."

Ronon arched a brow and smirked.

"We have not located the outpost yet," Teyla reminded them. "Perhaps the people who live here can provide information."

"That's doubtful," Rodney scoffed. "Anyway- oh, hello. What's this?"

The HUD display changed again as a flashing red dot appeared on the topography chart. John headed in the indicated direction, staring at the never-ending mountains.

"We're almost right on top of it," McKay said. "But I don't- oh, oh my."

The mountain in front of them rippled, shimmered then rearranged its peak into distinctly Ancient spires as a mini-Atlantis appeared right before their eyes. Balconies and walkways connected the buildings, but there were no open landing areas.

"Oh, that's just- just… um… yeah."

John would have teased Rodney for being speechless if he'd been able to find words himself.

"It is truly magnificent," Teyla murmured.

Ronon nodded. "What she said."

They flew over several towers including the central spire, but no obvious jumper bays opened in welcome.

"Ideas?" John asked.

"Wait, hang on, yes. Found it." McKay poked at his tablet again. "There's a docking station at the base of the far left tower."

"We should really go meet-"

"Aw, come on. You can't possibly think they have a clue this place exists."

"That's not the point, McKay. This is their planet."

"You could drop us off here then go meet those people," Ronon suggested.

Negotiations did seem to go smoother when Ronon and Rodney were occupied elsewhere. "Teyla, what do you think?"

"At the distance their settlement is from here and the fact that the outpost is not apparent unless a jumper nears, I doubt the people of this planet are aware of this place. Leaving Rodney and Ronon here would allow them extra time to explore, but we must be judicious in our questions. We would not want to be caught violating a sacred place."

"Would we be able to stay in radio contact once we get to the village?"

"We should," McKay answered. "We've made a few modifications recently, including subspace transceivers for the handhelds."

John took a moment to consider the options, trying to be objective. The past few months had really rocked his world – finding Carson, hearing the possible future from an aged Rodney, barely finding Teyla in time, almost losing Ronon, watching Elizabeth die. Again. The hopeful expression McKay was currently wearing was painfully similar to the innocent look he had developed as his mind was slowly taken from him. John knew he couldn't protect them every minute of every day, but that didn't stop him from wanting to.

He guided the jumper to the docking bay. "Fine. But no exploring until you hear from me."

Ronon kicked the back of McKay's chair, and Rodney collapsed dramatically over the co-pilot controls, grinning ear-to-ear.

After docking and lowering the ramp, John called, "You boys play nice until we get back. And," he added, "no duct taping the scientist, Ronon."

"Spoilsport."

Once they were clear, John closed the ramp and grinned at Teyla as she took the co-pilot's chair. "Let's go make some new friends."

xxx

Teyla gazed out the view port as they flew, the valley floor a smear of color beneath them. The display had shown a grouping of life signs on the far side of the foothills. She flicked a glance to her left. The muscle in John's jaw was still popping, and his white-knuckled grip on the controls had not eased. She understood the burdens of leadership, of allowing loved ones to put themselves in harm's way instead of clutching them tightly and never letting go. She also knew that the only way to ease a burden was to share it, a lesson John had yet to learn.

"Did I tell you that Torren has begun to crawl?"

"Really?" John's head bobbed from side to side, and he rolled his right shoulder. "That's terrific."

"Kanaan is thankful the doors do not open automatically."

"I bet." John chuckled and shook out his left hand, relaxing slightly. "How are things in the Athosian Quarter?"

"Not as good as I would hope," Teyla admitted. "My people are lost. We have always lived off the land, hunted and farmed. Atlantis is wondrous, but…"

"They don't know what to do with themselves?"

"Many have joined off-world teams, and Dr. Keller has graciously offered to allow our healers to assist her staff. But we have so few children that many teachers have no students, and those who performed services such as equipment repair or food preparation are no longer needed."

"Are you considering moving to a new planet?"

She sighed. "Halling and I have spent hours discussing the options. I do not see how it would be possible for us to be self-sustaining with so many of our people-" She drew in a ragged breath as a fresh wave of grief rolled over her.

"Teyla…" The corners of John's eyes pinched. "I- I don't-"

"What happened was not your fault, John," she said firmly. "Michael is the one responsible. And before you take the blame for him, remember that he chose the Athosians because of my actions. We have faced the threat of the Wraith for generations, and we have survived. We will survive this as well." She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

Tension seeped out of his shoulders as he gave a small nod. The HUD flickered to life, showing the life signs on the other side of the next series of foothills.

"Let's take a look at them before they see us," John said. "Engaging the cloak."

They crested the last set of small peaks, and Teyla blinked in surprise. Somehow with the grandeur of the landscape, she had expected an agrarian community like the Athosians. She found an industrial society instead. Sections of the forest had been razed, leaving huge, ugly scars in the ground. Buildings similar to ones she'd seen on Sateda and Hoff were crammed into the narrow valley, and a thick brown ceiling of haze blanketed the area, the tips of smoke stacks poking through and belching more pollution.

"And I thought LA was bad," John muttered.

Teyla was aghast. "How can do this to their land?"

"Shortsightedness, necessity, greed, apathy. Take your pick."

They circled around then dipped under the haze. Long, rectangular buildings filled city blocks, little grimy windows spaced evenly throughout. The streets were gray and made of material that reminded her of the concrete walls she'd seen at the SGC. People scurried about, heads down and shoulders hunched, never acknowledging others, ducking in doors and down alleys.

"Maybe Rodney was correct," she ventured. "Perhaps we should ignore protocol this once."

"There are more places on Earth than I can count that resemble this. It doesn't make them bad people, just… idiots. Well, that's not fair either." John rubbed a hand over his eyes. "We don't know their story."

"You are right, of course." Teyla shook her head. "I have been to other worlds with cities like this but never ones set in the midst of such beauty." She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until the jumper broke the layer of smog. "Do you think the air is safe?"

"Safe? Not on a long term basis, but we should be fine – mostly – for the short time we'll be there. Might need Keller to scrub out our lungs when we get back though." He tossed a grin her way. "We'll definitely need a shower."

John landed the jumper in a bare spot in the forest. He cloaked the ship with the remote as they exited, and they began the short walk to the edge of the city.

"How many life signs did you register?" Teyla asked.

"About ten thousand."

"In so small a space?"

"Yeah, makes you wonder, doesn't it? This entire planet and they all hole up here."

"What do you think it means?"

John lifted a shoulder. "Don't know. Maybe it means they like living really, really close to each other."

"But you don't think so."

"Not really. They had a lot of industrial plants pumping out that crap and several logging sites. Takes a large number of people to accomplish all that."

"And if people moved away-"

"-they'd face the same problem your people are facing – too much work, not enough hands." John clicked his radio. "Rodney, Ronon, come in."

"_Are you there yet_?" McKay demanded.

"Entering the city now. What have you found so far?"

"_You told us not to touch anything until you gave the go-ahead_."

"Like you ever listen to anything I say."

"_Oh, true. We've found the central control room. If you can believe this, I think this is a vacation getaway cabin, Ancient-style. You know, they never did anything small. I personally like_-"

"McKay! Focus. Are there any scanners there?"

"_What_ _kind? I've got meteorology, some kind of seismic monitor, wildlife tracker_-"

"A scanner that can detect _us_, Rodney."

"_You and Teyla_?"

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, me and Teyla."

"_Give me a sec… Yeah, here we go. This one reads bio-signs. Plug this here and reconfigure this… Viola! One bio-scanner modified to pick up your sub-cu transmitters_."

"_Something wrong_?" Ronon interrupted.

"Just a precaution."

"_Maybe you should come get us_."

"_What_?" McKay squawked.

"John, I believe we have been noticed," Teyla said as a box of metal on wheels turned a corner and headed toward them.

"Rodney, keep an eye on that scanner and see if there are any jumpers there. Just in case. Sheppard out."

John stood up straight, resting his hands on the stock of his P-90 as the vehicle stopped near them. Teyla adopted his stance as she positioned herself on his left. They appeared to be in a warehouse district – the buildings were short and square, and few people were about. Two men wearing the same drab tunic and pants of indefinable color as the people they had seen from the air emerged from the transport. John stepped forward with a smile.

"Hi there. I'm John Sheppard, and this is Teyla Emmagan."

The taller man, his lined face and faded hair making his age indeterminable, gripped them with a hard stare. "You are not from here."

"We are not," Teyla said. "We came to your world through the stargate." At their blank looks, she explained, "The ring that hovers over the waterfall where the river begins. In the mountains."

The men exchanged glances. The shorter man, as worn as the taller one, moved toward their vehicle and spoke into a small device while the first man said, "We have never heard of anyone but Wraith coming through the Killing Circle. How did you disable the alarm system?"

"What alarm system?" John asked.

"A machine in one of the oldest buildings broadcasts a warning when the Wraith come."

John's brows shot up. "Really. That's incredibly useful. Any idea how it works?"

"No," the smaller man said as he returned. "But this is the first time it has failed."

"Well, like you said, we aren't Wraith. Maybe your alarm only goes off for Wraith."

Teyla raised a hand as she stepped forward. "We are explorers. We mean you no harm. We are interested only in getting to know you and perhaps establishing a mutually beneficial trade agreement."

"You are heavily armed for explorers," the short man observed.

"Only for defensive purposes," Teyla replied calmly. "We have introduced ourselves. What are your names? What do you call your world?"

"Belveer," the tall man answered. "I am Colsar, and he is Setal."

"Are you the leaders of this people?"

"No," Colsar said. "If you will come with us, we will take you to them." He waved a hand at his vehicle.

"Can we walk?" John asked. "I'd like to see more of your city."

Setal almost smiled. "You could, but the governmental buildings are on the far side of the city. It will take some time to reach them on foot, and we advise against breathing the air for that long."

xxx

John cut his eyes toward Teyla, wondering if she was getting the same _get the hell out now_ vibe he was. She gave him a tiny nod, and her hands slid slowly into position on her weapon.

"Thanks for the offer," John said, "but we have our own transportation. Just give us directions, and we'll meet you there."

Setal's comm device crackled, and a distorted voice spoke words too faint for John to hear. Whatever was said caused the man to look to Colsar in alarm.

The distrust in Colsar's face was replaced with distress. "You are in danger here. You must come with us now."

Rodney's voice suddenly boomed in John's ear. "_Sheppard, you have dozens of life signs converging on your position. What's going on_?"

Engines revved as four mini-armored car wannabes skidded around the corner, heading for them, and a low roar in the distance grew steadily louder.

"What the hell is going on?" John demanded.

"John, look," Teyla said.

People were pouring from side streets and buildings, their faces transformed from beaten to rabid. The cacophony of shouts drowned out the pounding of marching feet.

"The timing of your arrival is…unfortunate." Colsar drew a weapon and turned to face the mob, yelling over his shoulder to John, "If you really have a way to escape, do so now. We will hold them off as long as we can."

The crowd seemed set on the transports. The front line of the mob was crushed against the first vehicle as waves of people stormed it – screaming, kicking, slamming fists into it. Men climbed from the transport as it rocked back and forth under the onslaught. They fired their weapons into the crowd which only grew more enraged as bodies fell. With a shriek and a groan, the vehicle flipped on its side. The men fell, and the mob pounced. The attack spread to the next transport, and the melee disintegrated even further as the people turned on each other.

"Go now!" Colsar shouted as he raced toward the fighting.

Teyla's hand snagged the front of John's vest. "We must go."

He was certain she shouted it, but the noise had reduced him to reading her lips.

"What about these people? Did we cause this?"

"We cannot do anything for them. I doubt we are the cause of such violence, and we do not have the ammunition to fight."

They backed away, heading for the side street they'd entered on when they were spotted. Several men broke off from the main group and dashed toward them.

"Run!" John shouted, firing his P-90 over their heads.

The men didn't even slow down, the roar of the mob continuing to dominate. John aimed at the ground, cringing as bullets ricocheted madly from the concrete-like surface. But again, he had little success. Two men fell when they were struck in the leg, but the rest kept coming.

"Dammit! Don't make me do this!"

Bullets spit from his left as Teyla fired. Four more men collapsed. She slashed her hand fiercely at John, and he dropped to the ground as she shot where his head had been. Scrambling to his feet, he followed her down the side street nearest to them and cut over to the next. Glass rained down as windows shattered around them. A door to their left burst open, more people spilling into the street, slicing between them.

"Teyla!" John yelled, legs pumping and lungs heaving as he raced after the flow of the crowd.

He found her on the next corner, beating the living shit out of a guy with the butt of her P-90. She twirled it expertly and pointed the muzzle into his face, not flinching when a bullet chipped paint from the wall near her.

"Teyla!" John screamed.

She didn't respond, unable to hear over the riot in progress. John blessed Ronon for making him run every morning as he pounded towards her, searching for the shooter but unable to spot him in the confusion.

John wouldn't, couldn't lose one of them. He gritted his teeth and ran harder.

"Teyla!"

xxx

She turned when she heard her name, blinking at John in surprise as he barreled toward her.

"John?"

His eyes went wide as his body jerked once, twice, three times before colliding into hers. Teyla hit the ground hard, wincing as her head bounced off the pavement and crying out as John's full weight landed on her chest. Gasping for breath, she struggled to pull an arm free and pushed at his shoulder, horrified when her hand skidded through slick, warm blood.

"John!"

No response. His breath was warm but shallow against her neck. She wiggled her other arm and her left leg free, wrapping them around his body and rolling carefully. He was dead weight, boneless, as he sprawled on the ground. She pressed shaking fingers into his carotid, relieved to find a weak pulse there.

The mob had disappeared momentarily, but Teyla knew she didn't have much time.

"_Teyla! Sheppard!_" Ronon screamed in her ear.

"I am here."

"_What the hell is going on?_ _We've been calling you forever!_"

"I do not have time to explain now, Rodney. John is badly injured. Did you find any jumpers?"

"_No. There's nothing here – no gate, no rings, no beaming tech_."

"Is there any way for you to contact Atlantis?"

"_Not without the gate active_."

John coughed, pink froth forming on his lips as crimson puddled beneath him and streamed down the sidewalk.

"I have to get John to Atlantis."

"_Get him to the jumper_," Ronon said. "_Dial Atlantis from there_."

"How long will it take a medical team to reach us?"

"_Half an hour, tops_," Rodney replied.

"I fear John does not have that much time. I believe a bullet his nicked a lung. He is coughing up blood."

"_Oh, God. Teyla, you have to get him home now_."

"I know that, Rodney. How?"

"_Fly the jumper_," Ronon suggested.

"I do not have the gene."

"_You have Sheppard_."

"_He's right_," Rodney said. "_Remember Sheppard telling us that Wraith threatened to use his dead hands to operate the controls_?"

"He is not dead!"

"_I know that. All I'm saying is get him in the jumper and put his hands on the controls. It's way harder to fly without the mental component, but all you have to do is fire up the engines, lift off, dial Atlantis, and fly. You don't even have to go in a straight line_." Rodney paused then continued, his voice filled with a confidence that he couldn't fake. "_You can do this, Teyla. You've flown hive ships, and you've seen Sheppard do this a thousand times. The hardest part will be lining up to go through, but if you aren't lined up properly, an alarm will sound_."

"I will send someone back for you."

"_Good luck_."

"To us all," she whispered.

Teyla searched John's vest until she found the jumper remote. After tucking it into her own vest, she pulled him across her shoulders in what John called a fireman's carry and slowly rose. She braced a hand against the building until she was steady then turned toward the street that led out of the city.

She had not reached the corner yet when the first sounds of rioting returned. John groaned in her ear when she adjusted her grip.

"T'la?"

Teyla eased him to the ground, patting his face until he blinked at her sluggishly. "Good, you are awake. We must go now."

He coughed, a deep wet sound that blew red flecks into her face. "Can't."

"Yes, you can. We are almost to the jumper, but the mob is returning. You must stand."

John's breathing was labored, hitching occasionally. His eyes slid shut.

"Get up!" she shouted, grabbing his tac vest and shaking him. "Move it, Sheppard!"

His eyes flew open. "Wha'?"

She heaved with all her strength, pulling him to his feet and holding him upright. "I said on your feet, soldier!"

Slinging his arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist, they staggered from the edge of the city into the forest. John's weight grew heavier in her arms until finally he collapsed. Light bouncing off metal caught her eye.

"John, please. We are almost there. I can see the jumper."

No amount of cajoling worked this time. John lay limply, lips blue under the ruby stains and veins in his neck bulging. Teyla ran her hands over his chest, grimacing at the rigidness. She pulled a knife from her boot then pushed up his vest and shirt, tracing a shaking finger down his ribs as Carson had taught her. Locating the area she wanted, she placed the tip of her blade there and thrust. Air whooshed from the hole she'd made. John's gasp was ragged and painful, but the veins relaxed, and the blue faded.

Teyla didn't let herself relax. Blood still pooled beneath him and was now dribbling from the wound she'd made. She wrapped her arms around his chest and dragged him into the clearing, pausing only to lower the ramp. She left John on the floor of the jumper, closed the rear hatch, and dashed to the front. Reaching for the DHD, she groaned when she realized she needed John to power the ship. Suddenly, the console lit up. She frowned, glancing behind her to confirm that John was still in the back.

"How-"

Then she saw them – big fat red droplets on the controls. Teyla stared at her hands as John's blood trickled down her fingers, pooling on the tips and raining onto the console. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the controls and pictured John flying, mimicking his movements.

The jumper lifted clumsily in the air, wavering from side to side as she fought for control. The drive pods extended as they climbed past the canopy and turned toward the mountains. Dialing quickly, she informed Atlantis of John's condition and of the location of the outpost where Ronon and Rodney were. She cut the connection and pushed the engines the best she could.

"More foothills!" Teyla exclaimed, slamming a fist into her thigh. "Where is the valley?"

She was angry – angry at John for being unconscious, at the Ancestors for building a ship that required a gene she didn't have, at mob mentalities, at the Wraith for existing, at a galaxy who seemed determined to take away everything and everyone she'd ever loved.

"You cannot have him!" she shouted.

Mountains, once so majestic, were now harsh barriers between her and her goal. The valley floor blurred beneath them as she finally reached the river. Banking, Teyla spotted the Ring and headed toward it, gaining altitude until she was even with it. She slowed, doing her best to be in the center as she dialed Atlantis again. She was almost to the event horizon when the HUD flashed a warning. She was too far to the right. Turning sharply, she circled around and tried again, cursing in every language she knew when the HUD informed her she was too low. She swiped at the sweat that was blinding her, set her jaw, and took a deep breath. Aligning the jumper again, she pushed everything from her mind, concentrating on her breathing and her heartbeat. This time, they plunged through.

Teyla sagged in relief, never so glad to see the gateroom. The jumper rose gracefully as Atlantis took control. Teyla leapt from her seat and hurried to John's side. His breathing was shallow and his pulse faint, but he was still alive. When the jumper settled in its berth, she released the hatch and backed out of the way as Keller's team boarded. They wasted no time loading John on a gurney and running from the bay.

She sank onto a bench, dropping her head in her hands. Noises from the bay told her that another jumper was leaving, most likely to get Ronon and Rodney. She stared at her reflection for several minutes, deciding to wait for them, until she realized that she was looking into a pool of John's blood. Teyla hurried away, following crimson footprints to the infirmary.

The triage area looked like a tornado had hit. Bloody gauze lay everywhere. Empty vials and wadding littered the floor. Monitors and scanners lined the room haphazardly, some still rolling towards the wall. Teyla searched frantically through the infirmary until she located a tech who informed her that Colonel Sheppard was in the operating room.

Slumping into a chair in the waiting area, she laid her head back, unconsciously wiping her hands down her pants over and over.

"Oh, my God. Teyla?"

She couldn't find the strength to open her eyes at the sound of Rodney's voice.

"Teyla!" Ronon cried. Strong hands ran through her hair and down her sides. "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt." She blinked slowly, taking in their horrified faces. Glancing down, she understood. Blood was crusted on her hands, under her nails, on her tac vest and BDUs. Even her shoes were stained red. "I'm sorry. I should have changed." She tried to get to her feet, but Ronon's hand on her shoulder was unmovable.

"What happened?" Rodney asked, kneeling beside her.

Teyla laughed, hearing the hysteria but unable to control it. "I don't know." She relayed the events of the day, lost in the memories. "He's in surgery," she concluded. "That's all I know."

The gore on her hands stood in stark contrast to the cleanness of her teammates' hands as they gripped her fingers tightly. Ronon's eyes were dark with concern, but he smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder.

"You did it, Teyla," Rodney said quietly. "You got him here alive."

She nodded, her breath hitching as her body shook. John was alive. For now.

xxx

John opened his eyes, blinking slowly as a blurry feminine face appeared over him. His body felt disconnected, refusing to obey any of his commands. Beeps, hisses, and whooshes surrounded him. A small hand adjusted something below his nose.

"Welcome back, Colonel."

xxx

The lights in the infirmary were dimmed for the night cycle when he woke next. A dull throbbing in his chest and back spoke of injuries and good drugs. Fingers tightened around his when he stirred.

"John?" Teyla lifted her head from where she had rested it on her forearm.

He tried to speak but could only manage a croak due to the phlegm wrapped around his vocal chords. Coughing produced jagged bolts of pain.

"Here." Teyla offered an ice chip. "Better?"

John nodded as the icy liquid coated his throat. Clearing it gently, he whispered, "Hey, Teyla."

Her smile was the brilliant one that always warmed his heart. "It is good to see you awake. We have been worried."

He glanced around the room. "McKay and Ronon?"

"Major Lorne retrieved them from the outpost. They have been here with me for the past two days, but they left a few minutes ago when Rodney was called to his lab and Ronon went to get some food."

"What happened?"

"On the planet?"

"Yeah."

"We don't know. Mr. Woolsey sent a cloaked jumper back yesterday. Major Lorne said it looked like a warzone – many of the buildings burnt to the ground, bodies in the street. Civil unrest, perhaps?"

"Mmmm…" He fought against the sleep that was tugging at him. "You okay?" Her eyes were bruised, and most of her hair had escaped its clasp.

"I am now." She squeezed his hand and smiled again. "Dr. Keller says you are going to be fine."

He could not keep his eyes open. "'S good."

"Get some sleep, John. We will be here when you wake."

John nodded, curling his fingers around hers. His team was safe, and he would live to protect them another day. That was enough for now.

* * *

_Written for kristen999 who never received a John and Teyla Thingathon fic. Prompt: both protecting each other or both being soldiers. _


	11. Field Experience

_A/N: No spoilers. Happy New Year!_

**Field Experience**

"Johnson… Johnson!" Rodney snapped his fingers. "Johnson!"

The scientist jerked, her head whipping up from the console she was coaxing to life. "Yes?"

"That one can wait. We need to power up the satellites first. Go help Van Halen."

"Who?"

"Van Heusen," Zelenka corrected.

"Of course." She hurried away, her face flaming.

Rodney shook his head in frustration. "I don't have time for daydreaming."

"She was not daydreaming. She didn't realize you were talking to her."

"I kept shouting 'Johnson.'"

"Her name is Johansson."

"Whatever." Rodney connected his tablet to the main console and frowned. "Power levels are low. We have less than forty hours to get this place up and running."

"I know the deadline, Rodney. We will be ready before the comet enters the solar system."

He sighed. "We wasted so much time…"

"To ask permission of the local populace is proper. It is also protocol."

"You didn't have to spend three days sitting on a hard bench drinking tepid tea and listening to Uncle Fester drone on about tradition."

"You're right," Zelenka waggled his brows with a smirk, "I didn't."

Rodney glared at him. "Next time-"

"_McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in._" Sheppard's tone was clipped, anxious.

Rodney exchanged a quick glance with Radek as he activated his earpiece. "This is McKay."

"_What's your status?_"

"Bringing the observatory online now. We've got-"

"_Any hostiles?_"

"What? No, no hostiles. What are you- Is that gunfire?"

The roar of bullets was punctuated by a few grunts and an inventive string of profanity.

"_I can't reach Bentley or Okuma_."

Rodney pulled the life-signs detector from his pocket and calibrated it to recognize the gate. "I'm reading eight life signs at the gate."

"_Are Woodward and Scott still with you?_"

He readjusted the LSD. Six life signs. He raced toward the front, rushing past startled scientists and half-opened equipment cases. Hot air whistled through the cracks in the crumbling entryway, and he tripped over a small pile of rubble, gouging his palms and ripping the knees of his trousers. Before he could get up, voices drifted in from the outside. He crawled into the next room and to the warped door they'd propped open to peek out.

"Sheppard," he hissed. "Woodward and Scott are down. Four guys who haven't seen a shower in a while are going through their vests."

Sheppard was quiet for a second. "_Can you get to the gate?_" His voice was tight, controlled.

"Are you kidding? They're right outside. And they've got guns. Big ones."

"_We're pinned down_." More gunfire and the unmistakable whine of Ronon's blaster. "_We'll get to you as soon as we can_."

"Who are these people?"

"_Apparently, the local magistrate forgot to mention the raiders that drop by on occasion. Sit tight. We're coming. Sheppard out_."

Rodney peered out again. The raiders had finished stripping the marines of their weapons and gear, and were having a conference, shooting occasional glances toward the Ancient outpost.

"Oh no. Oh, God."

He eased backward then crept down the hallway and sprinted to the control room.

"Get everyone in here now," he ordered Radek. "Quietly."

His gaze raked the gathered scientists. Only Zelenka had a gun. No C4 or flashbangs either, and wasn't he spending entirely too much time around Sheppard and Ronon. Rodney flipped the safety off on his handgun as he studied the room. This was an observatory. No weapons of any kind.

"Rodney?" Radek prompted.

"Yes, yes." Rodney cleared his throat. "A band of raiders has attacked the village. Four of them have taken out the Marines at the entrance to this facility."

Murmurs rippled across the crowd as fearful glances were exchanged.

"Is Colonel Sheppard coming?" someone asked.

"No." He held up his hands as the murmuring grew. "I mean, he will eventually, but not right now."

"What are we going to do?"

Radek's voice was surprisingly calm. Rodney's heart was trying to beat a hole in his chest, his palms were sweating, and that strange tingling in his knees was back.

"Rodney?"

Every eye was on him. "Yes, well, um…"

Oh, God, he was the only one here who had any real field experience. He took a deep breath. He'd faced Wraith and Replicators and Genii. He'd even survived those grimy kids on M7G-677. What were a few raiders in comparison?

"Okay, you people are supposed to be the brightest minds in two galaxies. We're surrounded by Ancient tech and our own equipment. The first person to come up with a workable weapon gets…the next day, no, two days off."

Scientists scattered in every direction.

Radek's brows arched. "Rodney, this facility is for data collection and analysis. I don't think-"

"I know." Rodney pulled him into the hallway. "I need to keep them busy so they don't freak out and get us all killed."

Zelenka gaped at him.

"What?"

"A strange sentiment coming from you." Radek looked impressed. "You have changed."

"Well, don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."

"That is unlikely."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Just…go see if there's a back door to this place."

"What are you going to do?"

He pulled his nine mil. "Hope they stay outside." He took a step then turned. "Have you ever fired your gun?"

Radek swallowed thickly. "Only on the firing range. I'm not sure I could actually shoot a person."

"You'd be surprised what you can do when you have to. Listen, it's up to us to protect them. If you hear gunfire, I need you to back me up."

"Yes, yes, I- of course."

Radek hurried back to the control room while Rodney slipped down the hall, certain that he'd lost his mind. Running toward the bad guys was the sort of insanity his teammates were afflicted with. What the hell was he doing? He wanted to panic, knew he should be panicking, but he didn't have time for it. Panic would come later. People were depending on him right now.

He knelt near the treacherous pile of rubble that had tripped him earlier. Voices and the crunch of debris filtered in from the anteroom. The raiders were in the outpost.

His heart leapt into his throat, cutting off his air. Black spots danced before his eyes. _Damn it, McKay, just breathe!_ Sheppard's voice rang in his ears. Rodney spun, gasping, but Sheppard wasn't there. He was alone, in charge of a bunch of geeks.

They were so screwed.

_Way to stay positive, McKay_.

Silently cursing Sheppard and the relentless optimism that dogged his every step, Rodney ran in a half-crouch back to the hallway, turning slowly to weigh his options. He saw crates of equipment. Maybe he could… No, that wouldn't work. What if…

Who was he kidding? He wasn't Sheppard or Ronon or MacGyver for that matter. He had cases of crystals and circuits, boxes of screwdrivers and wrenches, scanners and soldering irons and oscilloscopes and computers. Everything they needed to get an observatory up and running. Nothing to prevent the bad guys for killing them all horribly.

Behind him, boots ground loose rock into the stone floor. Rodney quickened his steps, hurrying through the door to the main room and stopped. _Close the door, genius_, his brain supplied. How obvious. At least Sheppard wasn't here to say it. He waved a hand over the controls. The door creaked, echoing loudly. Every head in the room turned.

"Oh, crap."

Rodney waved frantically at the door controls as footsteps pounded in the hallway. The door groaned, slid forward, whined, slid forward more.

A face appeared.

A gun rose.

The door squeaked.

The muzzle flashed.

Rodney dropped to the floor as the bullet dented the metal. He ripped the nine mil from his holster and shot the door controls. Sparks flew. The controls went dark.

"Dr. McKay!"

Hands gripped his arms and pulled him upright. He shrugged out of their grasp, wiping sweat from his eyes as blood roared in his ears. "Where's Zelenka?" he panted.

Jones, Johnson, Yohan, somebody pointed toward the back.

The door vibrated as P-90 fire began to shred it.

"Let's go," Rodney ordered, forcing himself to not move until everyone else was flowing toward the back. He'd underestimated how hard it was to be the last one out. His respect for his teammates grew, though he'd rather suck a lemon than admit it.

Zelenka, wide-eyed and pistol in hand, met them in the back hallway. "I heard gunshots!"

"Put that up before you shoot yourself. Or me!" Rodney tugged the life signs detector from his pocket. "Okay, the bad guys are still together and still trying to get through that door. Did you find a way out of here?"

Radek nodded. "This way."

Rodney stepped to follow. "Oh, right," he muttered to Sheppard's voice in his head. "Take the six. I knew that." He moved aside to allow the others to pass. "This really sucks."

They wandered through the darkened corridor, breathing in stale, musty air and ten thousand year old dust mites. Rodney's skin began to itch at the thought. He bumped into the person in front of him when the line screeched to a halt.

Rodney pushed to the front. "What's the problem?" he hissed.

"I haven't been able to open the door yet," Radek replied. "I was working on it when I heard the gunfire."

"And you dragged us down here?"

"You would have preferred to remain where you were?"

"No, and don't change the subject."

"I was not-"

"Just get the door open." Oh, God. He sounded just like Sheppard.

"You sound like Colonel Sheppard."

"Shut up." Rodney glanced at the LSD again. "Uh oh. Two of them are circling around. We have to get out of here now."

"I am almost…" The door jerked then slid open. "…done." Radek smiled triumphantly.

Rodney checked for life signs. "They are coming from the right." He peered out into the barren landscape. "Head toward those rocks over there." He waved at a crop of red boulders then turned to the group. "Okay, people, follow Zelenka. Stay down and stay quiet."

He was actually surprised at how well they followed his instructions as they filed past, scrambling and flailing like…like scientists being chased by crazy people. He hustled after them, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as they did, and dropped behind the nearest rock. The life-signs detector showed the two from inside heading down the back hallway while the other two would round the corner any second.

"Radek," Rodney called, "get over here."

Zelenka crawled next to him. "What is it?"

"They're coming."

"What do we do?"

Rodney wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and pulled his gun. "We, uh, we don't let them hurt anyone."

Radek jerked off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt then slid them back on with a nod. "Okay." He swallowed thickly as he drew his weapon, gripping it with both hands and bracing it on the boulder. "I'm ready."

Only their ragged breathing and a sniffle from someone in the back broke the silence. When the first raider appeared, Rodney took careful aim and held his breath. The second man followed, and both headed to the open back door. The first one frowned, glancing inside then down, tracking the oh-so-obvious footprints in the sand that pointed straight toward Rodney and his people. His gaze locked with Rodney's, and he smiled, raising the P-90 he'd stolen.

Rodney squeezed the trigger. The man jerked; red blossomed on his shoulder. The other two men spilled out the door, catching him as he staggered backward. Radek muttered something Rodney didn't understand and fired. Stone flew as the bullet ricocheted off the wall. The raiders glared, aiming their weapons at the scientists.

Red energy rippled past, hitting one raider in the chest. Two more shots blew by before the first guy hit the ground. Rodney squeezed his eyes shut then looked again. All four bad guys were down.

"You ready to go yet?" Ronon propped a hip on a boulder and grinned at him.

"Well, it's about damn time you got here." Rodney stood and scanned the area. His little group looked scared shitless but nobody had any holes in them. "Where are Sheppard and Teyla?"

"Taking back the gate."

"It's just you?"

Ronon rolled his eyes. "There were only four little guys. That was a good shot, by the way."

"Only four? I could have been killed. You could have been… Really?" Rodney grinned shyly. "You think so?"

"Yeah."

"Did you kill them?" Rodney waved at the fallen men.

"Stunned. Thought I'd let the villagers have them."

"What about the other raiders? The ones who attacked the village."

"Already took care of them."

Rodney stood, stretching his back. "Oh, ow. I think I pulled something."

Ronon snorted a laugh. "Come on, McKay. Let's go home."

"Not a chance. We've got a comet to observe in," he checked his watch, "thirty-seven hours."

"McKay…"

"He is right," Radek piped up. "We are here; the danger has passed. We should finish what we started."

Ronon clicked his radio. "Sheppard, McKay wants to stay."

"_Tell him-_" A heavy sigh wafted over the connection. "_Fine. Get them inside and secure the facility. I've got two squads on the way_."

Rodney activated his comm. "How are…uh, the Marines?"

"_Stunned, actually. I guess the raiders preferred stealth_."

"Then why did they shoot at me?"

Ronon shrugged. "Didn't need to be stealthy anymore."

"Figures." Rodney turned to the group. "Okay, boys and girls…" Tired, shaken expressions stared back at him. He was getting soft. Normally he wouldn't care. Actually, he normally wouldn't even notice. "Time to go home."

"What?" Radek asked.

"What?" Ronon echoed.

Rodney sighed. "This isn't life or death. There will be other comets." It hurt less than he'd expected. "Besides, we've wasted too much time. We'll never get this place ready."

"Doctor McKay?"

"Yes, Johns… Johansson?"

The woman glanced at the others then lifted her chin. "We're already here, and we were close to getting the satellites online." She blushed to the tips of her ears. "I've never been this close to a comet before. I'd really like to stay."

Heads nodded around her. An unexpected flush of pride washed over Rodney. He scowled to keep the smile at bay.

"Fine. Let's get to work."

* * *

_Written by request for leesa perrie as a Christmas gift. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	12. Responsibility

_A/N: Spoilers through S4's Lifeline._

**Responsibility**

"John, am I interrupting?"

"Yes, thank God." John grinned at Teyla as he closed the lid of his laptop – and the four hundred and seven new emails – and waved at a chair. "Have a seat."

She perched on the edge, her sharp gaze flitting over his face. "Are you well?"

John chuckled. "Look that bad, do I?"

"The past few weeks…"

"Yeah, they've been-" He glanced away as memories stabbed at him. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"We have finished inventorying the food supplies." Teyla handed him a computer tablet. "Our dry goods are plentiful, but meat and produce are very low."

John scrolled through the data, grimacing as he did the math. Their stores wouldn't last until the end of the week. "Recommendations?"

Teyla sat back. "First, we should continue the rationing you instituted. I would suggest decreasing meat to one meal only and with set portion sizes. Also, one fruit or vegetable serving per person per meal. Second, we must re-establish relations with some of our trade partners. The harvest on New Athos will not produce sufficient quantities to support Atlantis. Unless Earth will be sending supplies soon?"

"I spoke with the SGC yesterday. Midway isn't stable enough to begin shipments. The Apollo headed home to restock. The Daedalus is on its way, but it won't arrive for almost three weeks." John leaned back and raked fingers through his hair. "Who do you trust enough right now to meet with? We can't offer much in return at the moment, and I don't want our address out there."

"The Samnea are an honorable people and would not be offended by not knowing our location. Also, I believe we can trust the Reka'aza, the Atwe, and the Dolegrans."

"Can they provide enough to get us by for a few weeks?"

She smiled wryly. "The negotiations will be delicate, especially with the Atwe, but with the proper incentives, the quantities will be sufficient."

"Delicate, huh. No Rodney or Ronon then."

Teyla arched a brow.

"Or me. Don't worry. I've got plenty to keep me busy."

"Are repairs progressing well?"

John propped his elbows on his desk and shook his head. "I don't know how Elizabeth did this. Every time one thing gets fixed, something else goes down. Rodney's been holed up for the past three days in the power room trying to repair the primary conduits. The combat engineers are still shoring up the worst of the structural damage. And today the desalination system went offline."

"The system that removes the salt and minerals from the water?"

"Yeah. Apparently the composition of this planet's ocean doesn't agree with it."

"Then we are without drinking water."

"Until Zelenka gets it unclogged and reprogrammed. So add water rationing to your list. Some of our people are working outside and others are in interior areas that have little to no air circulation until McKay gets the power fixed."

She frowned at her tablet. "Did Doctor Zelenka say how long it will take? The bottled water will not last long."

"He said within forty-eight hours if everything goes according to plan."

"Oh."

John sighed. "Exactly." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Then again, something has to go our way soon. Right?"

Teyla looked dubious. "I will ask the Atwe for water as well."

"Probably a good idea. Take Lorne's team with you."

She smiled knowingly. "Of course."

"Good luck," John said. "And be careful."

Teyla stood, inclining her head. "I will return as quickly as possible."

John forced himself to stay in his chair as the door slid shut behind her. Teyla was capable of taking care of herself. She'd been negotiating in this galaxy by herself for a lot longer than he'd been around. Still, the need to keep his people close these days was almost an obsession. He knew he'd been transparent, but Teyla always saw more than he intended anyway.

With a groan, he opened the laptop and scrolled through his email. How could he possibly have another forty-three emails in the short time Teyla had been in his office? Gritting his teeth, he dug in, sorting through all the replies and forwards until he had the most current version. He pulled out a scratch pad and pen; he loved technology but there was something about scribbling notes that helped him focus. Four pages later, he dropped his head in one hand and tossed the pen with the other.

"Bad day?"

John flinched so hard his elbow slid off the desk. "Shit, Ronon! A little warning next time."

"What fun would that be?" Ronon smirked as he retrieved the pen.

"How long have you been standing there?"

Ronon sprawled in a chair and threw the pen at John's head. "A while."

John stuffed the ballpoint in a drawer. "You could have said something."

"I could've. You hungry?"

"Yeah." John glanced at his watch. "Is it really that late?"

"You mean did you miss lunch? Yeah, the little there was of it."

"You know we have to ration what we have."

Ronon kicked at the desk. "I know. Doesn't change the fact that I'm still hungry. Give me a couple of the marines and some sniper rifles. There's a herd of _monleik_ on Fodren that should be migrating near the Ring about now."

"You gonna skin and roast them yourself?"

"Sure. Unless you want to."

John laughed. "I'm more the restaurant type. You know, bring it to me on a plate, already cooked."

"You're soft."

"And proud of it." John stood, stretched. "Can you bag enough to feed the entire expedition?"

Ronon scowled as he pushed to his feet and headed to the door. "What do you think?"

"Sorry. Lost my mind for a minute." John jabbed at the transporter controls. "Anything else going on I need to know about?" he asked as they rounded the corner to the mess hall.

"Keller says the blood bank is low." Ronon snagged a tray and began loading a plate. "I've almost got Zelenka's still put back together."

"How does your brain go from blood to booze?"

Ronon grinned. "Important liquids."

John passed over the water and took a bottle of juice and a sandwich. "They teach you to build stills in the military?"

"Officially? No." Ronon wrapped a foot around a chair leg and pulled, sliding into the seat. "Unofficially, my taskmaster rewarded the guy who made the best _niroq_ with extra rations for a month."

"Damn. All we got was a one-time calisthenics skip."

Ronon snorted. "Figures."

"Hey, I told you I was lazy," John mumbled between bites. "How does the infirmary look?"

"Better. Got the glass cleaned up and the drugs back where they go, at least the ones Keller said to keep. We lost some of the ones that have to be chilled. That's one reason the blood bank is so low."

John stared at his empty plate, but no amount of wishing made a steak and baked potato appear. "Yeah, I read her report. I told her to start a drive. We can't afford to be without."

"Spread pretty thin right now."

"Don't I know it." John groaned as the lights flickered. "What now?"

The radio crackled. "_Sheppard, this is McKay_."

"What's going on, Rodney?"

"_I've repaired most of the conduits. I just need to take a couple more offline because, well, there are overloads, and I don't want to blow up the city. I've sent the control room staff to auxiliary control and-_"

"Rodney! Take a deep breath and slow down."

"What's wrong with him?" Ronon asked. "Thought Keller refused to give him any more stimulants."

"Probably too much coffee laced with Red Bull and Mountain Dew," John muttered. "McKay?"

"_Yes, yes, sorry_." His breath stuttered over the connection. "_I need to take the conduits in the tower offline to finish the last of the repairs. Primary systems are being run through auxiliary control, but I had to shut off transporter access to the central tower and relocate the control room staff to auxiliary control. The relays are beginning to overload_."

The lights surged again.

"I can see that. How long will it take?"

"_A day_."

"A day? Rodney, we can't be without power that long. We've got people off-world. We need to access the gate."

"_I'm sorry, but that's the only way to fix this_."

"How long do you really need?"

"_I just told you!_"

"And I told you we can't be down that long."

"_Where's Zelenka?_"

"Fixing the desalination system. What do you need?"

"_Sleep_. _I need sleep. I need a club sandwich the size of my arm. I need another person to help replace the damaged conduits while I monitor the consumption_."

"That I can help you with. Sergeant Lancaster is an electrician. He's been helping Harris with the structure damage, but I can pull him for a few hours."

"_A marine?_" McKay was silent for a minute. "_Can he bring me a sandwich?_"

John rolled his eyes. "No, but I can. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"_Mayonnaise, no mustard, extra cheese_."

"Anything else I can get for you?"

"_Now that you mention it_-"

"Sheppard out." John shook his head and looked at Ronon. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Ronon dumped their trays while John contacted Lancaster then grabbed water, a sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chips for Rodney. They headed outside for the long walk between buildings.

"At least it's a nice day." John tilted his head back, soaking in the sun.

"Air smells different."

"You think so?" John sniffed experimentally. "Smells like ocean."

Ronon shook his head. "The vegetation on the mainland isn't the same." He inhaled deeply. "Not as many flowers. More damp jungle. Water's saltier too."

"You can smell that?" John took a deep breath. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Well, Zelenka might have mentioned the salt."

"Cheater." John squinted at the sky, trying to locate the moons. "The stars are different."

"Noticed that. You gonna have a naming contest again? I wasn't here for the last one."

John kicked at a small piece of rubble as they skirted around a pile of debris. "Of course. When I find time."

"They gonna let you stay in charge?"

"God, I hope not."

Ronon shot him a sidelong glance. "You don't want to be the commander?"

John sighed. "Too high a price. I'd have to give up flying to sit behind a desk and file reports with the IOA. Bunch of stiff-assed bureaucrats."

"You mean you'd miss going on missions."

"Hell, yes. Well, except for the Wraith. And the Genii. And the damn Replicators." John glowered at the damaged towers around him, not realizing he was squishing Rodney's food until Ronon pried it out of his hands. "Oh. Oops."

"The way McKay sounded, I doubt he'll notice." Ronon shook the bag of chips and popped the sandwich's plastic casing back into place. "You did what you had to do."

"When?"

"On the Replicator planet. With Weir."

John stopped, turned his back to Ronon. Sunlight silhouetted a shattered building and glinted off the water between piers. "Doesn't feel like it."

Ronon stepped up next to him, staring across the water at the buildings on the other side of the city. "Losing people isn't easy. I had a team once…" He shook himself. "You did what she wanted."

"Let her die?"

"Saved the city." Ronon glanced at him. "You think she's dead?"

"Aw, hell, I don't know. I'm not sure living would be the better option."

"Do you remember when Cadman got stuck in McKay's head?"

The corner of John's mouth tugged upward. "Who could forget that?"

"I'd been here a few days. Didn't know much about any of you. I was impressed you gave the order. Now that I know you and McKay… Ordering that dart shot down must have been hard."

"I couldn't let the Wraith know Atlantis still existed."

"Even if it meant sacrificing McKay?" Ronon asked.

"Yes," John ground out.

"You were right. So was Weir when she ordered us to go."

"I could have-"

"No, John, you couldn't have. If you would've tried to save her, we'd be dead and Atlantis would be destroyed."

"I know," John said quietly. "Doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to find her."

"Who said you had to?"

"The IOA keeps turning me down."

"Why wait for their permission?"

"Because I would need the Daedalus or the Apollo." John heaved a sigh and resumed walking. "Because the city is my responsibility right now. Elizabeth sacrificed herself for it. She wouldn't want me to jeopardize it, even for her."

Ronon clapped him on the shoulder as the doors to the central tower slid open. They wound their way through pitch black corridors to a stairwell, walked down a couple of flights, and emerged into the utter darkness of the subterranean level.

"No, no, no! Not that one. Did you buy your degree off ebay?"

"McKay!" John shouted.

A light protruded from a doorway. "What?"

"Lunch is here."

"Oh!" The light bobbed furiously toward them. "Thank God! I'm starving." White hands snatched the food from Ronon's grasp. "What took you so long?"

"No transporters, remember?"

The light swung into John's face. "No cheese?"

John swatted at the flashlight. "Ingrate."

Rodney stuffed half the sandwich in his mouth. "Omamusfishd."

"Swallow, McKay." Ronon grabbed the flashlight and pointed it at a neutral spot, highlighting the area around them.

"Sorry. I said I'm almost finished."

John's brow wrinkled. "It went from taking all day to fifteen minutes?"

"That was thirty minutes, and what I meant was I'm almost finished locating the conduit damage. The teams are repairing the last few as we speak. We should have power restored fully in the next few hours." Rodney ripped open the chip bag and poured in a mouthful. "Got anything to drink?"

John handed him the water and apple. "The gate?"

"We'll need to run diagnostics on all the systems first. As soon as I bring the ZPM online, I'll-"

"Get some sleep."

"No, I was going to say-"

"Don't argue with me, McKay. You have a staff of very competent people. Let them run the diagnostics."

"But-"

"No buts. I need you at the top of your game, Rodney. When you're done here, go straight to your quarters. No stopping at labs or checking on Zelenka and the other repair teams."

"Okay," McKay said, a little too quickly.

"I'm serious. Don't make me send Ronon after you."

Rodney's gaze shifted to Ronon then back, not looking impressed.

"Or Teyla."

"You wouldn't dare."

John grinned. "Try me."

"Fine, fine. I got it." McKay's brows rose hopefully. "Dessert?"

"Sorry-" John stopped as Ronon handed Rodney a chocolate bar. "Where'd you get that?"

"What?"

"That candy bar."

"What candy bar?"

"The candy bar you just gave McKay."

Rodney scraped an arm across his mouth as he swallowed. "What candy bar?"

John glared as they blinked innocently at him. "I hate both of you."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh. Ouch. That hurt," he said dryly.

Ronon slapped John on the back hard. "Come on, Sheppard. We've got-"

John's handheld radio squawked. "_Colonel Sheppard, this is auxiliary control_. _Please respond_."

"This is Sheppard."

"_Colonel, Lieutenant Mogala missed her scheduled check-in, and we haven't been able to raise her or anyone else on her team_."

"How long?"

"_Twenty minutes_."

"Where was she working?"

"_The Sumner Building. Section J Twenty-seven, Level B Two_."

John grimaced. "Who do we have nearby?"

"_No one, Sir. That's the problem. The other teams are in outlying areas, and most of the scientists are, too, since power is out in the central tower._"

"That's two buildings over from here," Ronon said. "We can get there faster than anyone else."

"Chuck, Ronon and I will check on them. What channel are they on?"

"_Channel six_."

"Keep trying to reach them and notify me immediately if anything else happens," John ordered.

"_Yes, Sir_."

"What do you want me to do?" Rodney asked.

"Right now, finish working on the conduits. I don't want to leave our people stranded off-world any longer than I have to. I'll call you if I need anything."

"Got it." McKay retrieved his flashlight from Ronon and hurried back to the power room.

John trailed a hand along the wall as he and Ronon made their way in the dark to the stairwell and back up to ground level. They rounded the central tower and double-timed it toward the Sumner building.

"What do you think happened?"

"Well, the building's still standing, and I don't see signs of smoke or fire. That's something," John remarked, switching his radio frequency to six. "Mogala, this is Sheppard. Come in."

Only static answered him.

Rocks skittered in front of them as they passed Grodin's spire. John slowed, looking for the source. A small heap of crumbled stone off to his right began a slow slide toward them.

John flipped the radio back to channel one. "Auxiliary control, this is Sheppard. How's our buoyancy?"

"_This is Auxiliary Control. We haven't-_" Chuck cut off as something shattered nearby. "_Sorry, Sir. I don't know what's going on. Our board shows green_."

Atlantis rolled gently under John's feet, then a little harder. A large chunk of rubble tumbled by. John gaped at Ronon who stared back wide-eyed. The only time the city moved like this was when they were rising. Or submerging.

"_What the hell is going on?_" McKay broke in. "_We're moving! We're not supposed to be moving!_"

"I know that, Rodney. Are the engines on?"

"_No, Sir_," Chuck replied.

"_They can't be_," Rodney said. "_No power_."

"I can't hear them," Ronon added.

"_The missing team. Where were they?_" McKay asked.

"_Section J Twenty-seven, Level B Two."_

"_Hmmmm…_"

John frowned. "What is it, McKay?"

"_One of the main ballast tanks is near there. We checked them as soon as we landed, but if something fell or shifted… Sheppard, you need to hurry. Normally an issue with one ballast tank wouldn't be a problem, but with all the structural damage, Atlantis could literally tear herself apart. I'll be there as soon as I can._" From the sound of Rodney's breathing, he was already at a dead run.

John and Ronon sprinted toward the Sumner building.

"Where is this tank?" John asked.

"_It's in the subterranean levels just east of the Sumner building_," Chuck answered. "_Section J Twenty-eight, Levels B four to nine_."

John dodged a shower of glass as Atlantis rocked again. He and Ronon jumped over the metal poles keeping the doors to the building open then ducked under the caution tape and pounded down the stairwell to level B four. Ronon, damn him, had barely broken a sweat as they raced down the hallway while John's lungs were trying to leap out his throat and his legs were suing him for divorce.

Ronon screeched to a halt, his outstretched arm catching John mid-chest.

"What the hell?" John panted, gently checking his sternum for cracks.

Ronon pointed. Part of the wall lay in chunks, massive metal shards poking out in every direction and blocking John's view of the hole in the floor.

"Well, that would've sucked," John said.

"Yeah. Come on."

Dust rained down every time Atlantis rolled, a fine covering of gray settling over both of them as they picked their way through the debris. A door with Ancient markings was twisted enough for them to climb through. The control room they entered sparked and hissed. Warning lights flashed from the three round consoles in the center, and the wall of glass overlooking the tank below was in a million pieces. John could barely hear himself think over the roar, and even from this distance he could tell the tank was empty.

Ronon shook his shoulder and shouted something. At least John assumed he was shouting. His lips were moving, but all John could hear was the tornado in the next room. So much for getting instructions over the radio. He gestured at his ears and shrugged. Ronon grabbed his arm and dragged him to a console. A dizzying array of Ancient text scrolled by.

John looked at Ronon. "What?" he mouthed.

Ronon rolled his eyes and pulled John back to the door and into the hallway. "Something turned on the compressed air. It blew all the water out and hasn't shut off so new water can get in."

"How do you know?"

"That's what that consoles say."

"You can read Ancient?"

"I grew up in this galaxy. The markings are everywhere."

John's brows shot up. "Markings about ballast tanks and compressed air are everywhere."

Ronon had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "I might have picked up a little from McKay and Weir."

The city tilted abruptly. Metal creaked and pieces of stone flew.

"Think you can figure out how to turn the air off?" John asked.

Ronon shrugged. "Worth trying."

They climbed back in. Ronon stalked around the room, peering at each console and display, pushing a button or two. He looked to John, shook his head, and pointed to the door.

John followed him out. "Well?"

"Console's broken."

"You think it can be fixed?"

Ronon shrugged. "McKay fixes everything else."

The city groaned, tilted one way then the other. The mangled wall near them continued to crumble, tossing large chunks of rock toward them.

"Right," John said. "Not enough time. Can we shut it off manually?"

"Let's go find out."

Ronon crawled through the doorway then checked the consoles again. After his third circuit around, he slammed a fist in frustration.

"I don't know," he mouthed.

John nodded. He moved to the shattered glass wall and gingerly leaned forward to look down into the tank room. Every wall, support strut, and console had dials and switches. Ronon tapped his arm and gestured. A spiral staircase led to the first landing below. They raced down the steps and began scrutinizing the controls.

The city rolled again. John hit the catwalk and skidded to a pole. Ronon flipped over the railing.

"Ronon!" John yelled, climbing to his feet and staggering forward.

Fingertips clutched the edge of the landing.

"Hold on!"

John dropped to his stomach and reached through the bars, gripping Ronon's wrist. Ronon's other hand shot up and clasped John's forearm. John grabbed Ronon's bicep and pulled with all he had. Atlantis pitched hard again. John rolled to his right, the muscles in his shoulder screaming as they twisted unnaturally. Ronon's boot clanged against the metal as he swung up, catching a rail. He hauled himself onto the landing and collapsed, chest heaving. John rolled his sore shoulder, allowing himself a quick second of utter relief, then stood and shook his head at his grinning teammate.

"Come on. We've got to shut off that air."

John and Ronon retraced their steps and checked the controls then moved to the next level. A few minutes later, Ronon bumped his arm and waved toward the third level. When they reached it, Ronon went straight for a bank of levers. He pushed each one up then down. Slowly the roar of air was replaced with the rush of water as the tank began to refill. Ronon smiled, looking extremely smug, and headed back upstairs.

They climbed out the twisted door, skirted the damaged floor, and were halfway to the stairwell when McKay arrived, drenched in sweat.

"Is it fixed?"

"Of course," John answered. "Well, mostly."

"Mostly? What does that mean?"

"It means the tank is filling with water, but the control room is shot to hell."

"Then how did you…?"

John hooked a thumb toward Ronon. "He fixed it."

Ronon folded his arms across his chest and smirked broadly.

"Really?" McKay's brows arched. "It's really fixed?"

"Yep," John said. "You need one of your flunkies to check it out and begin repairs."

"But I-"

"-have power conduits to fix and a nap to take."

Two more scientists stumbled into the hallway.

"Oh, good. Just in time," Rodney said. "Go check the control room. Make sure the ballast tanks are working properly then do what you can to repair the damage." He waved his hands at them. "Shoo!"

They scurried off. John, Ronon, and Rodney climbed up to ground level and began the long walk back to the central tower.

"Oh, damn," John muttered, pulling out his radio. "I forgot about Mogala's team."

"They checked in a few minutes ago," McKay said. "You didn't hear them?"

John shook his head. "The place was deafening. Couldn't hear anything."

"Debris shifted on them." Rodney held up a hand. "Everyone's fine. Just cuts and bruises they said, but one radio was destroyed and the other was trapped under the rubble. It took some time to dig it and themselves out."

"So we're good?" John asked.

"For the five seconds it will last," McKay groused.

John huffed a laugh. "Where's your optimism, Rodney?"

"I had it surgically removed at birth."

"Ronon's almost got Zelenka's still repaired. Maybe after your nap we can christen it."

Rodney turned to Ronon. "You fixed the ballast tank and the still?"

"And he promised to go hunting. Maybe if he hurries we can have…what was it called?"

"_Monliek_."

John nodded. "Right. If he hurries we can have _monliek_ steak with it."

McKay looked thoughtful. "_Monliek_ any good?"

"Oh, yeah," Ronon said. "Especially seared and topped with _ruga _leaf."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Rodney demanded. "I'm starving."

"The gate," John prompted.

"I'll have it ready before he finishes that still."

"Wanna bet?" Ronon challenged.

"You're on," McKay answered. "First one done owes the other his dessert for a week."

"Deal."

John laughed as the men shook hands then ran in opposite directions. He'd have to remember the dessert challenge in the future. He walked to the edge of the platform, listening to the whitecaps' rhythmic pounding below. The horizon was an explosion of reds and golds as the sun set, and a gentle breeze carried the exotic scents of their new planet. John turned slowly, soaking in Atlantis' lighted towers, and her darkened, damaged ones. Repairs would take a lot of time and effort, but they would replace every rock, every sliver of glass, every sheet of metal.

He would make sure of it.

Atlantis was his responsibility.

* * *

_Written for sgasanta's fic exchange for skieswideopen who wanted competence, hidden skills, no whump, and John's relationship with a teammate. Many thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	13. That Which Does Not Kill

_A/N: S5 casting spoilers only._

**That Which Does Not Kill**

Radek leaned back in his chair, pulling off his glasses with a sigh. The tension headache that had been building throughout the morning had eaten its way down his neck and burrowed behind his shoulder blades. The past week was one he never wanted to repeat – a frantic search for Colonel Sheppard's team followed by a difficult rescue and a battle to keep them alive. Add to that having to do his regular job plus Rodney's. Groaning, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes then slid his glasses back on. The sanitation system picked the worst times to malfunction. What he wouldn't give for a vacation.

"_Dr. Zelenka, this is Falducci. Corporal Windsor reports the blockage has been cleared. I've reset the system_."

A quick glance showed green across the board. "Understood. Bringing it back online now." Radek's fingers danced across the controls. "Everything appears to be flowing properly. Good work, Tony."

"_Thanks, Radek_."

"I would like for you and Ingmar to take the maintenance system apart as soon as possible. Find out why the automatic cleansers didn't activate."

"_Will do. Falducci out_."

Zelenka stood, stretched until his spine cracked, and really saw his office for the first time in days. Cups of moldy coffee clumped on every table. Laptops, computer parts, PDAs, tablets, and several Ancient devices were scattered around the room, and at least three different uniform jackets were draped on his chair.

Clutter drove him crazy. Rolling up his sleeves, he tackled the mess and was putting away the last of the mugs when his radio chirped.

"This is Zelenka."

"_Sir, Dr. Coleman is checking in from M3U-874. She's asked to speak to you_."

"I'll be right there."

When Radek reached the control room, Chuck transferred the feed to a nearby monitor.

"Nina."

Coleman nodded. "_Radek._"

"How's the analysis?"

Something flickered in her expression. "_That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I don't think that it's a power generation research facility. I'm transmitting the data to you now_."

When the download was complete, Radek scrolled through the information, his jaw slowly dropping. He reran it, headache forgotten in his giddiness. "Nina, do you know what this means?"

She grinned at him, eyes dancing. "_That I'll be here for a while_?"

"And you're going to have company. Lots of company."

"_Are you coming too_?"

Radek shook his head wearily. "Not at first. Maybe in a day or two."

"_I'll see you when you get here_. _Coleman out_."

He stared at the darkened screen, his mind lost in the possibilities, until a voice calling his name broke the reverie.

Chuck was watching him with a bemused expression. "You okay, Doc?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. Please tell Mr. Woolsey I need to see him immediately."

xxx

Radek hovered in the doorway of the critical care area, hesitant to intrude. He, along with the rest of the expedition, tended to think of Sheppard and his team as indestructible. Time and again they had managed narrow escapes with minimal injuries. This was not one of those times.

Ronon had awoken first, screaming. It had taken two orderlies, four marines, and the strongest sedative Dr. Keller had to keep him from tearing the place apart. Even drugged, he'd gotten away from them. They found him in Colonel Sheppard's room, curled on the floor next to the bed. After Teyla woke in the same panic, the medical staff spent a day and a night trying to calm her and find Ronon before giving up and moving them all into one room.

They now sat back to back between the beds Colonel Sheppard and Rodney occupied. The colonel had suffered the worst injuries, still on lifesupport after three days and two major surgeries. Teyla gently stroked his arm, carefully avoiding the IV lines and broken fingers. The hiss and whoosh of the ventilator and the beep of the heart monitor provided an unusual harmony to the melody she hummed. Ronon had a hand firmly clamped around Rodney's wrist as he slept curled on his side, facing his team.

"Radek?" Dr. Keller prodded as she stopped beside him.

"Any change?"

She smiled tiredly as she massaged her neck. "Some. Rodney has shown signs of waking, and Colonel Sheppard's vitals have stabilized. You can go in, you know."

"I don't want to disturb them." He handed her a memory stick. "If Rodney wakes up while I'm gone, show him this."

Dr. Keller took the drive and slipped it in a pocket. "What is it?"

"Schematics."

"He won't be up to working for quite some time."

"It isn't work. At least he wouldn't consider it to be. We've been searching for a place like this since we arrived." Radek grinned at her. "Trust me. It will make him feel better."

"What kind of-"

She broke off when one of Colonel Sheppard's monitors shrieked, racing over as Teyla shouted for help and Ronon leapt to his feet, wild-eyed. Rodney whimpered, reaching blindly for the broken contact. Medical personnel gently ushered Ronon and Teyla out of the way. Ronon resisted for a second before relenting and pushing Teyla's wheelchair to the other side of Rodney's bed then stationing himself at the foot. When Teyla brushed a hand through his hair, Rodney reacted immediately, rolling toward the touch. She twined her fingers through his, and Ronon squeezed his leg. Rodney shuddered once then dropped deeper into sleep.

Radek shook his head as he backed out silently and headed to the jumper bay. He'd worked closely with people before, had formed friendships, but he'd never experienced that kind of bond. When McKay had announced he was joining Colonel Sheppard's team, Radek had nodded politely, personally thinking Rodney insane. They could spend a lifetime on Atlantis, studying her, discovering her secrets. What could the man possibly hope to accomplish by running around the galaxy pretending to be a soldier?

The times Radek had been off-world had been enjoyable – except for that time on the planet with the kids – but even though he had done good work and had made a difference, he had no interest in joining an off-world team, declining every offer. But sometimes he glimpsed a strength in Rodney that hadn't been there before, a confidence that had nothing to do with intelligence, and wondered if he was missing something important.

The ramp to Jumper Four was open when he reached the bay. He tossed his bag on the rear passenger chair and sat down, surprised to find Evan Lorne in the pilot's seat.

"Major."

"Hey, Doc. Ready to go?"

"Yes. I apologize for my tardiness. I had a stop to make."

Lorne began his preflight check. "I stopped by this morning. The colonel and McKay are going to hate missing this."

"I am certain Rodney will find a thousand things wrong with what I've done."

"Nah. He'll be too busy arguing with Sheppard about what to name it." Lorne keyed his comms. "Flight, this is Jumper Four. We are ready to depart."

"_Jumper Four, Flight. You have a go_."

Radek settled back as the engines fired and the jumper lifted. "I wasn't expecting you today. I thought Dr. Keller had taken you off duty."

"Off mission rotation. For a week. She thought we needed some downtime after the rescue op. I told her flying across a solar system would be cathartic." Lorne grinned at him as the ship rotated and began its descent into the gateroom. "Besides, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to check this place out." He shot Radek a hopeful glance. "I don't suppose we could get a few custom jobs. You know – cloaks _and_ shields, bathroom facilities, seatbelts…"

Radek smiled. Pilots and their aircraft. "We might want to learn how to make the basic model before we start customizing them."

"Ah, well, didn't hurt to ask."

Lorne and his men had taken quite a beating during the rescue of Colonel Sheppard's team, and Radek took a moment to examine the major's face as the jumper drifted downward. The shimmering blue highlighted Lorne's haggard appearance – smudges under his eyes, new lines on his forehead, a not-quite-healed split lip and a bullet graze to his temple.

But he grinned like a kid as he gripped the controls and turned to Radek. "Ready?"

Radek stifled a laugh and nodded. Maybe flying really was cathartic.

They shot into the wormhole…

…and blasted out the other side straight into a meteor shower.

Lorne blanched, his grip turning white-knuckled. "What the hell?" The jumper shuddered as rock peppered it like hail on a tin roof. "Doc?"

"I don't know. Yet."

Radek frowned at the HUD display, the information zipping by faster than his eyes could track. The jumper bumped, dropped, rolled to the left. He clawed at the arm of his chair only to be flung against the right hull when the inertial dampeners fluctuated as the jumper dipped and rolled the opposite way.

"Doc!"

"I don't know! There shouldn't be anything here. No asteroid belts, no nearby comets. The debris from the wrecked hive is on the other side of the moon."

"Can you convert the cloak to a shield?"

"Not in time. Can you get us out of here?"

"I'm trying." The veins and tendons in Lorne's neck bulged as he fought the controls. "I can't find a clear path, and most of this…stuff is too small for drones to hit." His eyes widened. "Hang on!"

The jumper spun crazily, the spacegate, a planet, and a nearby moon chasing each other across the viewport as they tumbled.

"Major?"

They listed sideways then flipped again, a drone shattering the large meteor that tumbled toward them.

"Major!"

"I'm…trying!"

"Major, that planet is getting very large."

"I…know. I…can't…"

The jumper somersaulted again then flattened out. Radek caught a glimpse of the moon – rocky, pock-marked, and barren – with a newly-formed crater still spewing rock. Then the planet filled the windshield.

Lorne grimaced as they rolled right then slowly straightened. "Sorry. She's sluggish."

The HUD flickered, flashing warnings of imminent hull breaches and system overloads.

"I've got to set her down, Doc."

"This isn't the right planet. Our people are on the other side of the solar system."

"I know that, but we aren't going to make it there. I need to land. Now."

The jumper rocked wildly as they entered the atmosphere. Just before they broke through the cloud cover, the jumper bucked with a roar and a gut-wrenching shriek. Radek braced his hands on the console, his teeth rattling from the bone-jarring vibrations.

"We lost the right drive pod!" Lorne shouted.

They skimmed treetops in a flat spin then rolled.

"God, I can't… Hang on, Doc!"

The left drive pod hit first, flipping the ship back into the air. Lorne slammed chest first into the control console and went limp, flopping like a ragdoll as the jumper's belly smashed into the forest, mowing a path through the woods until it reached a clearing. It plowed a sideways furrow in the dry prairie grass then slid into a large lake, jerking to a halt when its nose struck bottom.

Radek smacked into the bulkhead with a dull thud and slumped in his seat, unable to fight off the darkness any longer.

xxx

Blinking woozily, Radek frowned as he tried to focus, his vision blurry and strangely beveled. He reached for his face and stifled a cry as the right half of his body screamed in protest. Gasping led to coughing, and he couldn't hold in a moan at the jagged bolts of pain that shot through his ribcage. Panting shallowly, he waited for the lightheadedness to subside then gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright.

His spectacles slid off his nose, the shattered glass dissolving as the frames hit the console. He chuckled at himself. No wonder he couldn't see. The warm trickle on his temple stained his fingertips red, and a knot was forming where his head had bounced off the wall repeatedly. The air smelled of sparked electricity and burnt wiring, and when he shifted again, broken glass and crystals crunched around him.

"Major Lorne?" he rasped.

Only the pop of frying circuits and the creak of warped metal answered. Radek cautiously rolled his head to the side. Lorne was splayed across the console, blood pooling beneath his face and dripping from his chin.

"Major? Can you hear me?" Zelenka's heart began to pound again. "Major!"

Not even a flinch.

"Oh no, please, do not be dead."

Using the controls for leverage, Radek pushed to his feet, taking a few deep breaths as his legs shook and his body throbbed. He braced a hand on the console for balance while he staggered to Lorne's side and pressed fingers to his neck, finally finding a weak, thready pulse.

"Do not scare me like that."

Even without his glasses, Radek could see how awful Lorne looked. His pale skin was almost translucent, and blood dribbled from his nose, mouth, and several gashes on his forehead.

The jumper looked as if a bomb had gone off inside. The panel covers of the wall consoles dangled, revealing broken and blackened crystals. The overhead bin netting had ripped, and the bench seats had jarred open, the contents scattered in disarray on the floor. Radek sorted through the supplies, searching for anything of use. He separated food and water from medical provisions, loaded a handgun and tucked it in his belt, and hauled all the equipment to the front, poking gingerly through it.

"I am sorry to report that we have crashed, Major." Radek pulled a medical scanner from the pile and pointed it at Lorne, scowling when the screen stayed dark. "Do you know how many medical facilities there are on Atlantis?" He flipped it over. "Forty-seven. It took two of my people three days to go through every facility to find enough of these that functioned for all the jumpers. Dr. Keller insisted." He poked at a few buttons and finally slapped it. "You'd think I would have learned how to turn it- Ah!"

The scanner lit. He waved it over Lorne's head and body, groaning in dismay at the incomprehensible displays.

"I cannot make sense of the…"

Ancient text filled the screen. He squinted at it, rapidly translating the diagnosis in his head.

"Oh, not good." He glanced up, wondering if Lorne could hear him. "That is to say, you've been better. You have head trauma, probably a severe concussion, and several broken ribs plus some internal bleeding. No spinal injuries. That's good. You shouldn't move, though. There's a nasty piece of metal embedded in your right shoulder, but then I guess you don't need me to tell you that."

On a whim, Radek turned the scanner on himself and waited for the diagnosis.

"Hmmm… A concussion and a couple of cracked ribs. I guess wrenched shoulders and bruises are not important enough to appear on here."

Radek set the scanner and handgun in the chair behind Lorne and located a blister pack of Tylenol and a bottle of water, swallowing a lot of both. He shrugged out of his jacket, folding it, and carefully lifted the major until he could slide the soft material between Lorne's head and the console. He found a few antiseptic wipes and cleaned off as much of the blood as he could then gently bandaged the man's shoulder, careful to not jar the shrapnel.

"What to do next?" Radek spotted his tablet underneath the co-pilot's chair. "Of course. Communications."

He eased into his chair with a wince.

"I believe what we experienced was a meteor shower resulting from an impact to the moon. You were probably too busy flying to notice. From the brief glimpse I had, it looked like it had been hit many times in the past, most likely by hive debris." He frowned at his tablet when it wouldn't power up, prying off the cover to inspect the circuitry then glancing at the pile of equipment in the floor. "I know I saw a laptop somewhere."

The jumper's spare laptop was in worse condition than his tablet. Radek spent a few minutes harvesting parts, squinting and holding the computer at arm's length. "My glasses are broken. Did I mention that? Repairs don't normally take me so long, but I can't..." He slapped his forehead, muttering a curse at the throb it produced. "Forgive me. My concussion seems to have scrambled my brains more than I thought. I have another pair in my bag."

Radek rummaged through his pack and pulled out the glasses, now splintered and bent. He twisted them until they would at least half sit on his nose and huffed in frustration. The cracks were directly in his line of sight. Adjusting them again, he peered at the tablet, cautiously testing the damaged circuits and replacing them. He was focused, so focused that he almost missed the breathy whisper.

"Doc?"

Lorne was staring at him, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Radek gaped for a moment then leapt to his feet, grunting as pain rippled down his side.

"What…" Lorne struggled weakly for a second then slumped. "Doc?"

"What do you remember?"

Lorne's forehead scrunched. "Going to the infirmary to see the colonel." His eyes squeezed shut as a shudder ran through him then he squinted at Radek. "Are we in a jumper?"

"Yes, we were on our way to the manufacturing facility. We crashed, well, had a very hard landing anyway. Try not to move. You've been injured."

"Really?" Lorne gasped when he tried to raise his head. "Maybe I shouldn't move. Any help on the way?"

"Not yet. I'm working on sending a signal." Radek gestured toward his tablet. "But keep in mind that even after the facility figures out we aren't coming, they are several hours away. They'll need to fly at least halfway across the solar system before they can dial Atlantis."

"So, in for a long wait, huh."

"Unfortunately. How do you feel?"

"Like I've gone ten rounds with Ronon. No wait, worse. Ten rounds with Teyla, a very pissed Teyla. What happened to me? Was I in an accident?"

Alarm shot through Radek. "We crashed, remember?"

Lorne frowned. "I crashed a jumper? No wonder I feel awful." His eyes drooped to half-mast. "You okay?"

"Yes, I will be fine." Radek wracked his brain, trying to remember his first aid training. "Am I supposed to keep you awake?"

"Hope not," Lorne mumbled. "Sleepy." His eyes shut then bounced open. "Where are we?"

"On the planet near the gate."

"Can we walk to the gate?"

Radek kept an eye on Lorne while returning to his repair work. "No. It's a spacegate."

"Well, that sucks." Lorne frowned at him. "What happened to you?"

Radek sighed. "You are dreaming, Major. Go back to sleep."

"Oh." Lorne's eyes slid closed again, and he was asleep in seconds.

Radek tweaked and tested and tweaked some more until his tablet slowly booted to life. He peeled off the console cover by his seat, clamped on the connectors, and patiently coaxed the emergency transmitter to life. Power levels were almost depleted – only three hours worth. Most of the systems were completely beyond repair. He spent a little time on the DHD, hoping to be able to dial Atlantis, but only succeeded in shocking himself with a shorted-out circuit. Yelping, he cursed it thoroughly in Czech, adding in a few choice words he'd learned from Ronon.

Chuckling pulled his attention back to Lorne. The major's eyes were still glassy, but a little color had returned to his face.

"Those Satedans are quite inventive, aren't they?"

Radek grinned at him. "And apparently very flexible. How do you feel?"

"My head hurts." Lorne touched fingertips to his forehead with a grimace. "What happened?"

"We crashed."

"We did?"

"We have been over this."

"We have? Where are we?"

Radek explained again, adding a report on his repair work. Lorne frowned and nodded, the confusion evident on his face. He slowly lifted his head then braced his hands against the console and pushed upright.

"Oh, God," he panted, wrapping his left arm around his middle. "Gonna be sick."

Radek shot up and turned Lorne's chair quickly then held the man's shoulders as he heaved. The major trembled with the effort, slumping weakly in Radek's grip. Cognizant of the shrapnel, Radek helped Lorne to sit back then brought him a bottle of water and some Tylenol. Lorne swished the water but spit it out and refused the medication.

"Not a good idea right now," Lorne muttered, clutching his stomach with a moan.

Radek found a clean piece of gauze, wet it, and handed it to Lorne. "Just sit still, Major. Help will be here soon."

Lorne wiped his mouth with the gauze then dabbed at his forehead. "Evan."

"What?"

"After that," Lorne waved a hand at the vomit in the floor, "I think you can skip the formalities. My name is Evan."

"Then you must call me Radek."

Lorne laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Radek it is." His brows drew together, and he opened one eye. "Where are we?"

Radek gave an exasperated chuckle as he explained again. Mollified, Lorne relaxed and drifted off to sleep. Radek settled back with his tablet, connecting to each crystal in the control panel in hopes he could find one system that worked. He jerked when electricity arced near his head. A cold splash on his knee had him scrambling from under the console. Lorne was out cold.

"What the…"

Radek climbed to his feet and looked at the windshield. He ripped off his glasses and looked again. The cracks weren't in his glasses, not all of them. The windshield, the fully submerged windshield, was splintering. Visions of Rodney in a flooded jumper leapt to mind. Water was leaking in, sluicing across the consoles, dripping to the floor at an alarming rate.

"Major!" Radek grabbed his bag and began stuffing in equipment and rations. "Major!"

Lorne jerked, frowned. "What? What's wrong?"

"We're taking on water. We need to get out of here."

"We're what?" Lorne tried to stand, sinking back down as his knees buckled. "What happened?"

"I will explain later." Radek pulled the hatch release, jammed the handgun in his belt, and slung the pack on his shoulder. "We must go now. Can you walk?"

"Yes." Lorne pushed against the chair arms then slumped with a gasp and hunched toward his injured shoulder. "But I might need a little help standing."

Radek grabbed Lorne's left arm and pulled the man up then wrapped an arm around his waist. They stumbled up the back of the jumper, wavering as it shifted beneath their feet. The rear hatch hung about two meters over the bank.

"I'll go first," Lorne said.

"No, no." Radek tossed the pack to land and peered over the edge again. "I should."

The jumper quivered again.

"How about we both jump?"

Radek nodded. And jumped.

His knee twisted when he hit the ground, and he fell, hard. Lorne landed beside him with a pained cry, pressing his forehead to the ground as he pulled in agonizing breaths. Metal creaked, and after the windshield gave way with a loud _fwhoomp_, the jumper disappeared into the lake with a gurgle.

"Doc?"

"I'm…all right." Radek dragged himself to the major's side. "What did you hurt this time?"

"Aw, hell, I don't know. What about you?"

"Something is wrong with my knee." Radek sat up and prodded it gingerly. "Just a slight sprain, I think."

Lorne wobbled a bit as he rolled to his knees and looked around. "Where are we?"

Radek searched through his bag for more Tylenol and water, handing some to Lorne and swallowing a few himself as he repeated the story.

"So, after ten thousand years, that hive picks today to bump into the moon?" Lorne drawled.

"Not ten thousand. I believe it was destroyed about one year ago."

"Replicators?"

Radek nodded. "That was our assessment."

"What were they doing here?"

"Who? The Wraith?"

Lorne pinched the bridge of his nose, blinking furiously. "Yeah, the Wraith. Why were they here?"

"I- I have no idea."

The major squinted at Radek then at the landscape. "What's on this planet?"

"Nothing. The database had a vague reference about a research lab in this system. We scanned this planet first but didn't find anything. We searched five planets in total before we located the facility on the far side of the system."

"Why is the spacegate here?"

"I asked the same question. Our scans showed nothing – no life signs, no unusual power readings, no evidence that anyone has ever lived here."

"What about now?"

Radek frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Are you still getting the same readings?"

"I hate concussions," Radek mumbled, rummaging through his pack. "I have a scanner. Do you have a life signs detector?"

Lorne patted his pockets. "No, it's in- it _was_ in the jumper."

Radek set the scanner controls to search for Ancient power signatures and expanded its range to maximum. "I do not understand. I saw the data myself. There was nothing here."

"Don't worry about it, Doc." Lorne pushed unsteadily to his feet. "We see it all the time. It's a proximity thing. I'm guessing the readings are somewhere inside a five kilometer radius."

"Just under four."

"Where?"

"That way." Radek waved a hand in the direction of wrecked trees and jumper-plowed ground.

Lorne grinned. "At least there's a clear path. Can you walk?"

"If I have to."

"You have to. We might not be alone."

Radek looked at Lorne in alarm as he slowly got up. "Wraith?"

"Maybe. They don't show up as life signs when they are hibernating." Lorne pulled his handgun and checked the ammo. "Could be Replicators. Could be anything. Could be nothing. I don't like being out in the open."

"And there may be a way to signal Atlantis from wherever that energy reading is."

"Exactly. Ready?"

Radek stepped carefully, testing how much weight his knee could bear. When it didn't crumple under him, he followed Lorne into the prairie grass. When the major began to weave, Radek pulled out the medical scanner and pointed it at him. The internal bleeding had not stopped.

"How are you feeling, Major?"

"Not too good," Lorne admitted. "And it's Evan. What about you, Doc?"

"Radek. I have had better days. I have also had worse. My brother burned the house down when I was a child. The flames, the heat, the falling timbers… I have never been so scared."

Lorne winced. "Fire. That's nasty." He staggered left, pressing a hand to his temple before moving on. "Got any other family?" he slurred.

"Yes, a sister."

"I have a sister, too. Erika has two boys. I miss them."

"Really?" Radek shook his head. "Karel's son… He is everywhere, in everything."

"How old is he?"

"Um, four, no five. Six maybe?"

"Dylan and Robbie are about that age." Evan smiled wistfully. "Little guys get into things. They're curious. You must have been like that as a kid. Isn't that why you became a scientist?"

"Yes, but I didn't break-" Radek paused as a vivid memory of a cookstove in pieces popped in his head.

"See." Evan shot him a knowing look. "Never met a scientist who wasn't curious about everything."

"And you? Were you a curious child?"

"About anything that had to do with flying. Engine mechanics, airspeed and velocity, history of flight. When I was a kid, I convinced my mom to drive across the country during spring break so I could watch the first space shuttle launch." Evan closed his eyes, weaving slightly. "I can still see it, the smoke billowing as the rockets fired. It was unbelievable." He chuckled softly as he methodically set one foot in front of the other. "My poor mom had no idea what kind of beast she was feeding. I tried to join the Air Force as soon as we got home."

"How old were you?"

"Ten." Evan blinked at him. "I wish she could have seen me fly. Just so she would've known the sacrifices were worth it. I dreamed of being an astronaut, and now look at me." He frowned, looking around. "What happened?"

Radek shook his head and explained again.

"Wow. Guess it's good thing she doesn't know about that. She'd be really pissed," Evan mumbled. "Sheppard's going to be pissed. He takes it personally when we wreck jumpers."

"I will build him a new one."

"You can do that?"

"Maybe. Once we bring the jumper facility online, I'll know."

"Oh, yeah."

They stumbled on in silence, soaked in sweat by the time they reached the woods. The forest floor was littered with broken treetops. Radek and Evan skimmed the destroyed area, shuffling through thick underbrush in the shade of the sky-high canopy. Only the snap of twigs and ragged breathing broke the hush.

Evan stumbled to a stop, a hand raised in warning as he turned slowly, head tilted. Radek held his breath, listening. Nothing – no birdsong, no insect chirping, no animal rustling.

"Why is it so quiet?" Radek whispered.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Evan pulled his gun and eased off the safety. "Where are we going?"

Radek checked the scanner. "About another kilometer or so deeper in the forest."

Evan glanced around, his face filled with questions. "What… Never mind. Let's go. Quietly."

They limped through the forest as quickly as they could, Radek keeping them pointed in the right direction. The terrain steepened, became rockier. Radek's knee folded when he slipped on a stone, and he hit the ground with a grunt.

"You okay?" Evan asked.

Radek leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath. "I hate this planet."

"You and me both." Evan squinted into the distance. "Hey, I think I can see it."

"Where?"

"On the other side of that clump of purple…fern-like things."

Silver glinted in the midst of the trees, and when Radek pointed his scanner towards it, the energy readings spiked. "I think you are right."

Evan grinned tiredly and offered a hand. "Then get off your ass and let's go."

"Gladly."

Radek accepted the hand up and had just found his balance when he heard it – a chittering sound that was somehow both a rumble and a screech. His spine prickled as his eyes met Evan's.

The undergrowth behind him exploded.

"Move, Radek!" Evan shouted.

A bitter taste filled Radek's mouth as he staggered forward, flinching away from the bullets blasting past his ear. The creature shrieked while Evan pumped round after round into it. Radek stumbled, fell, scrabbled away. Evan ejected the clip then tucked the gun under his useless right arm and slammed in another clip with his left, planting himself between Radek and the creature and taking aim.

"Hurry, Doc!"

The creature jerked but didn't go down as the bullets hit home. About the size of a lion, it had an inky black hide with a ridged spine, an elongated snout, and bony fingers ending in razor-sharp claws. Radek scrambled to his feet and hobbled toward the purple ferns and safety. The creature roared and hissed as shot after shot rang out. Then the _click_ of an empty chamber. Radek wheeled in horror.

Evan hurled the gun aside and pulled his knife. "Radek, get out of here!"

Radek knew two things for certain – Evan would fight that creature, and Evan would die. The creature chittered again, advancing slowly. Evan slashed at it awkwardly. Muscles bunched in the creature's shoulder and back. Radek dropped the pack and pulled the gun from his belt. The creature hissed again then swiped at Evan, batting the man down like a toy, claws slicing through his tac vest. Evan screamed as he landed on his injured shoulder, his body going limp. Radek squinted through his broken glasses and pointed the gun, willing his arm to stop shaking.

He pulled the trigger.

The creature's head snapped up. It sniffed the air and growled as it stalked toward him. Radek fired again and again, backing up until he collided with a tree. The creature had him trapped, its chittering changing to a trill. Green reptilian eyes were focused completely on him. It reared on its hind legs, preparing for the killing blow.

Radek froze. He was going to die.

A bloody hand reached from behind the creature and silver flashed at its throat. It jerked, staggered sideways, sank to the ground with a gurgle. Evan crashed to his knees then collapsed face down, knife in hand. Radek dropped to his hands and knees, drawing in deep, ragged breaths. Then he crawled to Evan and rolled him over. Claws had ripped through Evan's vest and uniform to shred the skin underneath. Blood welled, soaking his tattered clothing and pooling beneath him. The bandage on his shoulder was turning crimson, the metal it had been securing now completely buried.

"Do not give up on me now, Evan," Radek panted, checking the major's pulse. "Good. Just keep breathing."

He slung his pack on his back, wrapped his arms around Evan's chest, and pulled, ignoring the warm fluid staining his hands and clothes. Twenty minutes later, they reached the building. It was barely visible beneath the foliage, but Radek spotted door controls, grasping Evan's wrist and waving his hand over them. A door slid open with a sigh and a gust of stale air.

Lights flickered on as he staggered in and lowered Evan to the floor. A swipe with the med scanner showed more internal bleeding and the first stages of shock. Radek raked his gaze over the room. Dusty consoles and dead panels. Any other day and Radek would have been salivating at his find, but today he would trade it all for a medical doctor.

"You must hang on a little longer. Help will be here soon. I will find a way."

Radek emptied the pack. Water, a couple of MREs, a screwdriver, Tylenol, scanners, his tablet. Absolutely nothing that would keep Evan alive. The bag slipped from Radek's shaking hands as his vision swam. He scanned the room again then stepped closer to inspect the consoles. Most of them appeared to be for data storage and analysis, but one made his heart stutter.

A DHD.

The door had opened and lights had flickered on when they entered so the power source was not fully depleted. Radek pressed on a few keys, but nothing happened. Not having the ATA gene was rarely an issue for him, and he wasn't going to let it be the cause of Evan's death.

Radek knelt next to Evan to check his pulse. Still alive. "Evan, can you hear me?"

No response.

"There is a DHD. I believe I can call for help, but I need you to activate the console. I know this is going to hurt, but I don't have any other options."

Radek dragged Evan to the console, hefting him high enough to flop one arm on it. The panel hummed and lit. He eased Evan to the floor then dialed.

"Radio…where is the radio?"

His earpiece was gone as was Evan's, and the handheld in Evan's vest was destroyed. Radek patted down his own vest and pulled out his radio, sagging in relief when static burst from the speaker.

"Atlantis, this is Zelenka. Please respond."

"_This is Atlantis. Good to hear from you, Doc. We were getting worried_."

"Chuck, we have crashed on the planet next to the spacegate. Major Lorne is badly injured. We need a jumper and a medical team."

"_Dr. Zelenka, this is Woolsey. Help is on its way. What happened_?"

Radek slid to the floor, his fingers resting on the pulse point on Evan's wrist, as he explained. Adrenaline vanished, and exhaustion overwhelmed him. His head bobbed toward his chest. Pain ripped through his side and his knee when he jerked awake.

"_Doctor_?"

His lids were so heavy.

"_Doctor_ _Zelenka_?"

He would rest, just for a little while.

"_Are you there_?"

The radio slipped from his fingers.

"_Radek_!"

xxx

The touch of gentle hands on his arm woke him. Radek cracked his lids. Soft light silhouetted the form by his bed.

"Oh, you're awake," a feminine voice murmured. "Let me get the doctor. I'll be right back."

The form flitted away. Clean, cool linens wrapped him in a snug cocoon, and something stiff kept his leg immobile. A cart squeaked in the distance, and the sterile smell of antiseptic permeated the air. The infirmary. The privacy curtain parted, and Dr. Keller entered.

"How are you feeling, Radek?" she asked as she fitted her stethoscope to her ears.

"I have been better. What happened?"

"Your jumper crashed. Do you remember anything?"

The scope's bell was cold against his chest. "We were on our way to the jumper facility. We-" He sat up in panic, gasping as his ribs screamed their displeasure. "Where is Ev- Major Lorne?"

Dr. Keller pressed a firm hand to his shoulder. "You need to lie down. Your ribs took quite a beating. So did your head." She pulled a penlight and attacked his eyes. "Major Lorne sustained some serious internal injuries. He is in the critical care area."

"How is he?"

"He is recovering from surgery."

"That isn't what I asked."

She shook her head ruefully. "I should have known." She notated his chart then gave him a frank look. "He's tough, Radek, but he was hurt really bad. One kidney is bruised, and I had to remove his spleen. He lost a lot of blood, and that metal in his shoulder tore up several tendons. It barely missed an artery."

"Will he live?" Radek whispered.

Dr. Keller squeezed his hand. "Like I said, he's tough. He should pull through."

"But you aren't certain."

"Nothing in life is certain. But he's woken up a couple of times already. That's a good sign."

"May I see him?"

"Later. You need your rest. Do you need something for the pain?"

Radek hadn't even noticed the headache or the dull throb in his knee. "Not right now."

"Okay. I'll check on you later. Call if you need anything."

She tugged the curtain closed behind her. Radek waited until her footsteps faded before tossing the blanket back and carefully lifting his leg over the edge of the bed. He held onto the rail as he stood, gripping it tightly until his equilibrium stabilized. A nearby IV pole provided support as he peeked around the edge of the curtain then hobbled through the main ward and ducked down the hall to critical care.

The first room was empty, but he heard talking coming from the second. Rodney sat next to Colonel Sheppard's bed, one hand clasping the man's arm.

"…sical therapy, and Teyla's getting another x-ray. We're fine, you know. At least we will be. We aren't dead. Do you hear me? We're not. I know you think we are. Hell, I thought we were, but we're not. So it's okay to wake up now. It's almost Christmas, and Teyla wants to decorate. Seriously, you have to get me out of stringing garland with Ronon. He thinks it's funny to hang it higher than I can reach." Rodney's head dropped. "Please, John," he whispered, "please wake up."

Radek shuffled on, understanding for the first time a little of what Rodney was going through. It wasn't that he didn't believe Dr. Keller. He knew she wouldn't lie to him. But he needed to see for himself, to see Evan's chest rise and fall, to feel warm skin and a steady pulse. Radek was invested. He and Evan had been through something together, and he wasn't ready to let it go yet.

Evan was in the next room, surrounded by beeping machines and guarded by a very tall soldier. The man stood when Radek entered.

"Oh, hello," Radek said. "I did not mean to intrude."

"You aren't intruding, Doc."

"Yes, well, um…" Radek recognized him as a member of Evan's team. His black eye had faded to a mottled yellow-green, and one arm was still in a sling. Radek wondered when the man had last slept. "Lieutenant…"

"Rivers."

"Lieutenant Rivers. I wanted to see how he was doing."

Rivers' chin lifted. "The doc says he's fighting. The major isn't a quitter."

"Yes, I know," Radek murmured.

"I hear you saved his life."

"Oh, oh, no. He saved mine. I- I didn't…"

"You got him to safety and got help. That's good enough for me." Rivers studied Radek for a moment. "Could you sit with him for a few minutes? I need to hit the head, but I don't like for him to be alone."

"Of course. I would be happy to."

"Thanks, Doc."

Rivers slipped quietly from the room, and Radek dropped into the vacant chair. Evan had stitches in his forehead, and his shoulder was heavily bandaged. Wires, tubes, and leads poked out from several different spots, and the monitors behind him beeped steadily.

Radek leaned forward and patted his arm gently. "We made it, Evan. We are back on Atlantis in the infirmary. Many people are concerned about you so you must not give up."

"Not…giving…up."

"You are awake!"

The corner of Evan's mouth quirked upward as his lids cracked. "Is that what…you call this?"

"How do you feel?"

"Like the good drugs…are flowing. You?"

"Much better now."

"What happened?"

Radek shook his head as he repeated the story, adding, "I believe I know why the Wraith were there. That beast you killed. It would make a nice leather coat, yes?"

Evan huffed a laugh then grimaced. "Oh, ow. Don't make…me laugh."

"Sorry." Radek grinned. "You need to rest. Get better so your team can get some sleep."

"Bunch of…old ladies." Evan's eyes fluttered. "Gonna sleep now."

"We will be here when you wake," Radek promised.

Evan's breathing evened into sleep, and Radek settled back in the chair. Rivers returned with a tray of food and the rest of his team. He offered Radek a bottle of water as the group joked quietly with each other. Radek sipped the water, enjoying the easy camaraderie between the men, smiling as they included him in the conversation. Perhaps the next time he was invited to join a team, he wouldn't be so quick to decline.

* * *

_Written for sgasanta fic exchange for schweinsty who wanted Lorne and Zelenka friendship, and for sb4ever who wanted to see Radek save the day and someone appreciate him. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._

_As you know, tonight is SGA's final episode (sob!). I still have stories to tell (I have 3 in process as we speak) so I'll still be around, and I hope you will be. I am honored that you read my work. To those who review - thank you so much! I treasure your feedback._


	14. The Unfinished Project

_A/N: Spoilers through S5's The Prodigal_

**The Unfinished Project**

Rodney followed Sheppard off the dais on autopilot, quickly tuning out Teyla's prattle about the inhabitants of this…yes, as he suspected – another pre-industrial society. He frowned at the scanner, bounced off Ronon's shoulder, retuned the settings then pulled out the life signs detector.

"Keep up, McKay," Sheppard called.

"Aren't there supposed to be people on this planet?" Rodney expanded the range and sensitivity of his LSD. "I wasn't paying much attention, but I'm sure I heard that at the briefing."

"The Geadorl live in several settlements over a large area, but the closest one is beyond the slope of the forest," Teyla answered, gesturing toward a clump of the scraggliest excuses for trees he'd ever seen. Bent and gnarled, they reminded Rodney of the babushkas in Siberia standing in line to buy bread. Except for the blue needles that showered the ground at every puff of wind. Then again, some of those old women-

"McKay!"

He jerked guiltily. "What?"

Sheppard was giving him that irritating 'get your head out of your ass' look. "Life signs?"

"I already said there weren't any."

Teyla's eyes moistened. "None?"

"Um…" His heart twisted at her expression. "I-" He wasn't good with grief, not his own or anyone else's. "No. I'm not reading any life signs." He reached out automatically when her head dropped, then pulled back, exchanging awkward glances with Sheppard while Ronon squeezed her shoulder gently.

"They were a kind and gracious people," she whispered. "I spent many happy days here as a child, playing in the summer sun while my mother negotiated for seed and cloth." She drew in a deep breath and stood straight. "I would like to inspect the village. If there were survivors, perhaps they left an indication of where they were going."

"Maybe they went to the mountains," Ronon suggested. "Moved to one of the other villages."

"The other settlements are not far. Rodney should be able to detect them if anyone were still here."

"A culling?" Sheppard asked.

"Perhaps." She sighed. "Though I sense no Wraith presence. If it was a culling, they have long since left."

"At least we can rule out Replicators and Michael." Sheppard slid on his shades and stepped onto the trail that led toward the settlement. "That isn't as comforting as I thought it would be."

"No kidding," Rodney muttered. "I hate to think about what might have taken their place in the grand scheme of galactic domination."

"Wild animals or something might have attacked," Ronon called from the back. "Seen it before."

Teyla shook her head. "The predators on this planet are located in the mountainous regions not the plains."

Rodney buried his nose in his scanner, scowling to hide his relief. Animals that could wipe out entire villages were not on his list of Things to See in Pegasus. He trudged behind his soldiery teammates, trusting them to protect him as they headed toward the forest. Needles crunched under his shoes, releasing a putrid odor that was simply never going to come out of his uniform. The scanner refused to yield any significant energy readings, and despite his best efforts, no other life signs appeared on his LSD.

A hand wrapped around his jacket collar, yanking him back onto the path.

"Pay attention, McKay," Sheppard said. "With your sense of direction, you could end up in the mountains with those wild animals."

"You're one to talk," he shot back. "I'm not the one who got us lost in the Genii forest."

"Once. Five years ago. And you're the one who wanted to check out the strange energy readings."

"And you wanted to investigate the secret underground bunker. It was secret for a reason."

"Saved our asses a couple of times though."

"Are you delusional? Have you forgotten them trying to take over the city? Or maybe when they tried to steal the ZPM on Allina's planet. And there was that delightful time when they kidnapped us for our ATA gene. That's not counting all the times they tried to kidnap me because I'm, well, you know, way smarter than all of them put together."

"You talk more than all of them put together."

He shot a death glare at Sheppard, preparing to verbally eviscerate the man when he glimpsed Teyla ducking her head to hide a grin. A vivid memory struck Rodney: Teyla in a beautiful green gown standing with him near a waterfall. He didn't remember much after the initial diagnosis of a brain parasite, only random images and feelings, but he remembered his team being willing to risk their lives to spend one last day with him. The real him, not the childlike shell he'd become. Sacrifice wasn't a foreign concept to Rodney, but to extend it past his life to other things was. Things like ego.

"I can't help it. Words just fly out on their own. I've been thinking of asking Ronon for lessons on how to keep my mouth shut."

He caught Ronon's smirk right before the slap landed on the back of his head. More of a tap, really. Much lighter than usual.

"Ow." Rodney grinned at Ronon. "Sheppard, he hit me."

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you."

"Don't make me send Teyla back there," Sheppard warned.

Teyla turned, arching a mischievous brow. "I have several new bantos techniques that I have been eager to try. Who would like to be first?"

Rodney pointed at Ronon who slapped his hand away and pointed back.

"Him," they answered.

Sheppard's snort of laughter was cut short as his P-90 whipped to his shoulder when they cleared the forest. Teyla gasped, and Ronon brought his blaster to bear. All Rodney could do was gape. A Wraith cruiser was parked at the bottom of the gentle downward slope. He fumbled for the scanner, whacking the side when the energy readings were negligible.

"McKay!" Sheppard hissed. "How did you miss this?"

"I didn't. It's not showing up on my scanner."

"Life signs?" Ronon asked.

Rodney glanced at the LSD. "None."

"They don't register when they hibernate," Sheppard reminded them.

"I still do not sense any Wraith." Teyla stepped forward with a frown. "Where is the village?"

Sheppard's brows shot up. "It's supposed to be right here?"

"Yes. There should be several dozen huts."

"Maybe they're under the ship," Ronon offered.

"I don't think so," Sheppard replied. "If the ship landed on them, there should be debris scattered around the perimeter." He studied the edge of the forest and the rolling hills that stretched behind the ship. "You got anything, McKay?"

Rodney had run through every setting on his scanner. "Nothing. Maybe this ship was infected like Todd's. Maybe they managed to land better than we did."

"I seriously doubt that. Besides, it still doesn't answer what happened to the village."

He knew what was coming.

"We should check it out."

Rodney closed his eyes. Sometimes he hated being right all the time. "Do you remember what happened the last time we investigated a derelict Wraith ship?"

"What is with you and the stroll down memory lane today?"

"I'm just saying…"

"A lot has changed since then, Rodney." Something flickered behind Sheppard's eyes. "This isn't going to turn out like last time."

Sometimes that gunshot woke Rodney from the nightmare. Other times he was trapped, staring at what was left of Gaul's face. He blinked away the image and lifted his chin. "No splitting up this time."

"No splitting up," Sheppard agreed. "We go in, check for Wraith, hack the database-"

"Hack the database? What-"

"-and get out. If the ship is truly abandoned, we'll send a science team and a squad of marines back. Keep your eye on that scanner in the meantime."

"Fine," Rodney huffed, his right hand curling tightly around the stock of his P-90.

They crept forward quickly and silently, skirting the pristine hull of the cruiser as they searched for an open hatch. The readings on his scanner never varied. Twenty minutes later, they were back where they started.

"Ideas?" Sheppard asked.

Ronon tapped on the hull with his blaster. "C-4?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Have you ever met anything you didn't want to blow up?"

"Not yet," Ronon answered with a grin.

Teyla walked slowly down the side again, pausing in front of a sealed entryway. "There must be a way to open it."

Rodney's scanner went nuts when she trailed her fingers over the hatch. "Stop!"

She jerked her hand away at his shout. The door creaked, hissed, popped out and rose gradually, revealing the pink organic webbing that the Wraith were so fond of.

Sheppard strode forward, sighting down the barrel of his P-90. "McKay?"

"The ship is still powering up. No life signs."

"Eyes open, people. Let's go. Ronon, take our six."

Rodney's heart thumped in his ears as he followed Sheppard onboard. They twisted and turned through the body of the ship, heading aft. "The hibernation pods? Are you insane?"

"Are you reading any life signs?"

"No, but-"

"Then they are either hibernating or the ship is empty. This is the quickest way to find out."

"This is the quickest way to die."

"No one is dying today, Rodney." Sheppard stopped at the chamber entrance. "Open it."

"Oh, God," Rodney moaned, activating the door panel.

The doors swished open.

Sheppard ducked through then straightened, lowering his weapon. "Nobody home."

"Really?" Rodney followed Teyla in. Row after row of dormant pods stood open, waiting for occupants.

Ronon hovered in the doorway behind them. "I don't get it. Why land it here and leave?"

Rodney's brain spun as the conversation buzzed around him. He'd spent the majority of his adult life around the military and a good portion of the past five years battling the Wraith. He'd seen F-302s, battle cruisers, puddle jumpers, Aurora-class warships, transports, cruisers, hives, even Atlantis herself in action. The one thing they all had in common was wear and tear – scorch marks, dents, scratches, scraped paint. The hull of this ship was unmarred. A wispy tendril of an thought floated in the back of his mind, just out of reach.

They wandered through various sections, and the thought began to grow, take shape. They found no Wraith and no evidence of Wraith – no cocoons, no death stench, no human remains, no dust or grime or trash.

"Huh."

"What is it, McKay?" Sheppard asked.

"I don't…" He hurried out, heading for the nearest transporter.

"Rodney, where are you going?"

"Bridge," he shouted over his shoulder.

Sheppard jogged up beside him. "Want to share with the rest of the class?"

"Think about it. We've got a brand new Wraith cruiser in the middle of a missing settlement."

"So?" Ronon demanded.

"When was the last time you saw a _new_ Wraith ship?"

Sheppard's face drained of color. "In the isolation room."

"Exactly."

Ronon followed them into the transporter. "So the village-" They stepped out and crossed to the bridge section. "-got sucked up by the ship?"

"The village _became_ the ship." Rodney keyed the door controls and barged in. "It converted the buildings and any other materials into," he waved a hand, "this."

Teyla drew back in horror. "The Geadorl…"

Rodney shrugged. "They might have gotten out."

"One of them didn't," Sheppard murmured. "Why are we here?"

"To confirm the databanks are empty."

"What would that prove?"

"That the Wraith haven't been here yet. They might not know about it."

Sheppard nodded thoughtfully. "One of Michael's labs."

Ronon's eyes darkened. "Or an experiment."

"_Amshilq_," Teyla spat.

Rodney glanced at her in surprise. Teyla rarely cursed, even in Athosian, much less something that vile. Not that he didn't agree. Michael had been nothing but a disaster. Though, without him, they wouldn't have Carson. How crazy was it to be thankful to a monster for giving your best friend back to you?

He shook off the thought and connected his tablet to the nearest workstation while his team wandered around the bridge. He brought up the Wraith translation program and scrolled through in search of the commands he needed.

"Teyla?"

The concern in Sheppard's voice brought Rodney's head up. Teyla had both hands on the main console, her expression vacant and her eyes unblinking. His tablet beeped, showing information flooding into the database.

_DOWNLOADING_

What the hell? His tablet barely had any data on it. The download couldn't be coming from it. What could possibly-

"Shit! Sheppard, get her away from there!"

Sheppard and Ronon leapt for her while Rodney pounded on his tablet, trying to stop the process.

_INITIALIZING_

"Sheppard!"

"I can't get her free! It's like her hands are glued to the damned thing."

Teyla's eyes rolled back in her head, and a conduit behind her broke away from the wall. Blue energy arced, slamming into Sheppard's chest. He flew across the room and crashed into a bulkhead, slumping to the floor. Ronon reached for his blaster but was hit with the same bolt before his weapon cleared the holster. He smacked into a console and crumpled.

"Oh, no, no, no." Rodney's fingers danced over the tablet. "Come on!"

"Stop."

Rodney froze then peeked over the edge of the console. Teyla was staring at a point near him, her eyes not quite focused. The voice sounded like hers but…not.

"Teyla?"

Her face crinkled then went slack. "I have no designation." The flat, low not-Teyla tone creeped him out. "Cease your activities."

Rodney cautiously stood, laying his tablet on the console, and raised his hands. He was not panicking. Sheppard and Ronon were down and Teyla had been possessed by a Wraith ship. What was there to panic about?

"Okay. I've, um, ceased." He glanced at his fallen teammates. "What did you do to them?"

"Eliminated their interference."

Not panicking. Not panicking. "Are they dead?" His heart stuttered at the thought. Carson was his best friend, but these people were his family. He wasn't sure he could survive losing them.

A grimace of pain crossed her face, but she didn't answer. Rodney kept an eye on her as he pressed fingertips to Sheppard's neck, sinking to the floor when a steady heartbeat thrummed against them.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," he whispered.

He scurried next to Ronon, relieved to find an equally steady pulse. "You either, damn it."

Sweat beaded on Teyla's forehead. "I need more information. My programming requires it."

"What kind of information?"

"I need…" Her eyes squeezed shut then flew open, focusing on him. "Rodney?"

"Teyla? What's going on?"

"What…?"

"Fight it!"

"I-" Her head tipped back as her body shuddered. When she stilled, the creepy voice growled, "_You_ are responsible."

His mouth became a desert. "Responsible for what?"

"You have destroyed my creator." A snarl twisted her features. "I see it in her mind."

"We, uh, we didn't-"

The loose conduit behind Teyla swished. Energy crackled, a thin bolt lancing toward Rodney. His teeth rattled when it speared his shoulder and sizzled through him. Muscles and tendons seized, nerve endings on fire. A scream lodged in his throat as he convulsed. His lungs wouldn't work. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. His vision grayed. Oh, God, he was going to die.

Suddenly, the energy dissipated. He curled on his side and sucked in painful, ragged breaths then gagged when the stench of burnt cloth and singed flesh filled his nostrils. A few dry heaves later, he pressed his forehead to the floor, too spent to move.

"You will finish what he began," not-Teyla hissed. "Or I will kill them."

Rodney pushed up with a groan, swallowing thickly. "What do you think I can do?"

"Share your knowledge so that I may function"

"How?"

"Connect as this one has."

"What? Are you nuts? I can't-" Slight movement caught Rodney's attention. Ronon's fingers were twitching. Stall, he needed to stall. "I mean, um, there's so much to share. There's basic physics and spatial coordinates, hyperdrive functionality. Oh, and no Wraith ship could be complete without the unabridged edition of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_. Now, I don't have it with me, but-"

"Enough!" she snapped. "You will begin the sharing."

"Seriously, I don't-"

Sparks flew as a bolt shot from the conduit and impacted centimeters from Sheppard's head.

"Okay! Okay. Just, um, let me…see how much, ah, memory you have." He grabbed his tablet and typed furiously. "Right. Now," he dropped the tablet at Ronon's feet as he went by, "your databanks need a little bit of work. I could-"

"You will begin now."

"Can you really connect with me? I mean, I know the Wraith can get in our heads, but you're a ship. Does it work the same? You're not going to delete anything, are you? Because, seriously, I already did that this year."

The conduit wriggled. Rodney's breath hitched as he reached for the console. Depending on others was not his strong suit. So much could go wrong – Ronon might not wake up in time or he might not look at the tablet, Rodney might not be able to distract the ship long enough for Ronon to get out, the plan might not work, the ship might kill them before the plan was complete. He would be completely vulnerable, opening his mind to…what? A mind like a queen? A combination of Wraith tech and a villager or one of Michael's hybrids? Would there be anything left of him afterward?

He took a deep breath and blew it out. His team had risked everything to save him. Now, it was his turn.

As soon as his palms touched the console, a force gripped him, racing up his arms and slamming into his brain. Teyla collapsed beside him. A thousand daggers stabbed at him, ripping at his memories, shredding his mind. He struggled, resisted, hid what was important beneath the history of Batman and six years of piano lessons. His skull constricted, trying to squish his brain out his ears. Pain danced down his spine. No wonder Sheppard dropped to his knees every time a queen commanded it.

Information was pulled out, pieced together, accepted, rejected. He fought against it, redirecting the search down paths cluttered with movie quotes, song lyrics, his mother's brownie recipe. The ship raged, ramming spikes of pain into delicate areas of his mind. Rodney shuddered. He was weakening. He couldn't pull away. _Hurry, Ronon_.

An agonized screech filled his mind. The ship clawed at him, flailed, thrashed as its life drained out, dragging Rodney down with it. Then something heavy crashed into him, and all consciousness fled.

xxx

_Tap, tap, tap_.

Rodney twitched, sniffed.

_Tap, tap, tap._

He only knew one person that inept with a stylus. "Do you mind?" He blinked film from his eyes, squinting into the dim light. "I'm trying to sleep."

Sheppard glanced up, a grin splitting his face. "You've been asleep for most of the past two days. It's about time you woke up." The grin faded. "The doc will be back in a minute. How do you feel?"

"If you're asking if all my brain cells are still functioning, the answer is yes. The rest of me hurts like hell." He rubbed at the gauze on his shoulder. "Damn thing hit me with a bolt of lightning."

"Me, too." Sheppard reached for his chest, pulled his hand back. "Rodney, what you-"

"I know what you're going to say. 'How could you be so stupid?'" Rodney sighed. "It was going to kill you, and I couldn't… Ronon was waking up. I just needed to buy a little time."

Sheppard leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I was going to say that what you did took a lot of guts. Good job, McKay."

"Really?" His face flushed even as a pleased grin broke out. Genuine compliments embarrassed him. "I mean, yeah, sure." He cleared his throat. "I'm just glad Ronon bothered to stop to check the tablet before he blasted everything in sight."

"I'm glad you typed it." Ronon slouched in the doorway, meal tray in hand. "Can't read your handwriting." He strode in and placed the tray on the rolling table. "Hungry?"

Rodney's mouth watered as he perused the tray. "No dessert?"

"Sorry."

Teyla pressed her forehead to his. "I am pleased to see you awake." She dropped a pudding cup in his lap. "Don't tell Ronon," she whispered. "He thinks it's for Torren."

Rodney slid the cup under the sheet. "You okay?"

"I am fine. The last thing I remember is entering the bridge. I woke up in the jumper."

"Lorne came looking for us when we were overdue," Sheppard explained.

"And the cruiser?"

"I found the host origin area and blew it up," Ronon said. "I might have used a little more C-4 than you recommended."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm shocked to hear that."

"There was pink gunk everywhere." Sheppard shoved his PDA in his pocket and snatched a few chips from Rodney's tray. "It was disgusting."

"It was cool." Ronon kicked up a chair and sat down, a sandwich in each hand. "Took forever to get out of my hair, though."

Rodney grabbed a sandwich before Ronon ate them all. The nightmares might linger for a while, but he would live through them as he had all the others. His team had gotten him out like he knew they would. He settled back as their laughter and conversation washed over him, easing the tightness in his chest. They were alive and relatively unscathed. That was all he really needed.

That and a Nobel Prize.

* * *

_Written for challenge #1 at thermwc. Prompt: When technology gets angry. Thanks as always to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	15. True Measure of Value

_A/N: Spoilers through S4's Trio._

**True Measure of Value**

"I understand why…you benched Teyla. Pregnant…and all. But Ronon? I mean…it was only…a torn ligament. That's like a…splinter to you and me. OK, maybe…you because I'm…you know…sensitive to…pain. Which reminds me…you are a lot heavier…than you look. I…have to stop…just for a minute."

Rodney staggered to a halt and knelt, allowing Sheppard to slide bonelessly off his shoulder to rest against one of the larger trees.

"Oh, thank God." Rodney slowly straightened, pressing both hands to the base of his spine as it popped and cracked. "Ow! Ow, ow, ow. I think you've crushed all my vertebrae. They're probably completely fused at this point. You so owe me for this. A month of desserts. Good ones. And a massage by the hottest Swedish chick we can find on our next trip back to Earth. If we ever get off this rock."

He tipped his head back with a sigh and gasped as a red gas giant peeked over a mountaintop. "We're on a moon, Sheppard. This system's version of Jupiter is rising. I would really love my job right now if we weren't on the run from raving lunatics." Frowning, he glanced down at the unconscious man. "Now would be a good time for you to wake up. You remember that I'm not Ronon, right? Quit lying down on the job. We need to get out of here, and I could use a little help."

At Sheppard's appalling lack of response, Rodney crouched to check the man's pulse again – strong and steady. _No need to panic_, he told his thrumming heart. It was just a stun. Sheppard would be fine. He'd wake up any second, insult Rodney, and then lead them home. That's what he did. Maybe he needed some encouragement.

"That blast must have hit you in the head if you have no comeback for that. Seriously, could I have left myself any more wide open? Anyway, without my gear, I have no way of contacting Atlantis even if I could locate the gate. We can follow that painfully bumpy path back I think, but that's where the bad guys are. I don't do covert well on a good day, and certainly not if I have to haul your lazy ass around."

Apparently it wasn't enough encouragement. Grabbing Sheppard's arm, Rodney pulled him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and stood with a grunt. The forest near the trail had been heavily logged, resulting in very few trees and sparse foliage. The sun had just started to dip toward the horizon which left them exposed to anyone looking in the right direction. Or so he assumed. Ronon said things like that all the time.

Once Rodney found his balance, he headed deeper into the woods. "I bet you wish…Ronon was here. He would've…already found a cave, made…camp, and had a small furry animal…roasting on a spit. But, no. I'm here, and…he's living it…up on Atlantis."

xxx

Sheppard dunked a muffin in his coffee. "Keller said the knee damage isn't permanent. Ronon should be good as new after a few weeks of physical therapy."

"I am pleased to hear it. I have never seen him in such pain," Teyla said.

"I'd hate to be Jorgenson when Ronon asks for a rematch," Rodney remarked around bites of scrambled eggs and toast.

"Me too. I hope he gets it out of his system before our next sparring match." John grinned mischievously. "Or yours."

"I'll have you know I can hold my own." Rodney glared at Sheppard's guffaw. "I can," he insisted, "just not for long."

"I'd guess for about thirty seconds."

"I have seen them spar, John," Teyla affirmed. "I would estimate it to be closer to forty-five seconds."

"Hey! I'll have you know I lasted for a full minute last time. Almost." Rodney smiled when she laughed, a rare sound these days.

"OK, Jet Li. Time to go."

"I hate it when you call me that."

Sheppard smirked as he stood and collected his tray. "I know."

xxx

"I told you we…shouldn't…negotiate. Ever. We suck at it. We need Teyla…or Elizab- Damn. Sorry. I saw Sam…in her office a few…days ago and for a minute…I wondered when Elizabeth…had gone blond. Sometimes, I…forget. Last time…I woke up in…the infirmary, Keller had…to remind me that…Carson, well, you know."

Rodney paused to catch his breath. The underbrush reached to mid-calf and had tried repeatedly to trip him. While there was no discernable path, he had taken the easiest route, which was now rapidly growing steeper. The planet's climate was perfect – sunny, gentle breeze, white wispy clouds in a startlingly blue sky – but sweat poured down his face and back. Unknown rustlings in the brush made his heart leap, prodding him onward.

"What was I…saying? Oh, yes, negotiating should be…left to anybody…but us. I have…no idea what we did, but…we should definitely…not do it again."

xxx

Rodney glanced around. Medieval hell. Again. "What are we doing here?"

"Sergeant Munroe said the Silem are interested in trading some kind of bean and access to the ruins in exchange for repairs to their irrigation system."

"Their irrigation system. Do I look like a farmer to you?"

"This has nothing to do with farming. The pump for their well is broken."

"What do you need me for? Any of the sycophants working for me can fix it."

"You're here because I'm here, and I'm here because Colonel Carter couldn't come. You do remember breaking her leg, don't you?"

"That wasn't my fault!"

"Sure," Sheppard drawled.

Negotiations had been surprisingly smooth. The Silem were happy to see them, grateful for the assistance, and growers of the most fabulous almost-coffee bean that Rodney had encountered in Pegasus. A celebratory feast in honor of the agreement capped it off. Then, halfway back to the gate, everything went to hell.

xxx

"I am…glad to be out…of that damn wagon, but this…would have worked better if…you had let me get hit…with the stunner…instead of…shoving me out…of the way and getting…hit yourself. Who…knew a…stunner blast would…carry that far? I thought…we were well…out of range. Anyway, it's not…that I don't…appreciate it, but you…know I'm going to get…us caught again. Not Ronon, remember? It was…a valiant escape attempt…though I don't…want to know…where you were…hiding that knife."

The terrain had leveled off, and Rodney braced an arm against a tree as he surveyed the landscape. Trees, trees and more trees. No water. He eased Sheppard to the ground with a groan and stood stiffly, twisting to work out the kinks in his back.

"You wait here. I'm going to scout around a bit." He sighed. "Never thought that would be something I would ever say."

He stumbled through the undergrowth then stopped and backtracked when he realized he had to actually find Sheppard again. Pulling several PowerBars from various pockets, he started again, dropping them in spots of sunshine as he went. After a few minutes of searching, the welcoming gurgle of a brook greeted him. Lying on his stomach, he stuck his entire face in the water, drinking greedily and definitely not thinking about the gross and disgusting things that might be in it. He ran his fingers through his hair and down his neck, wiping away a day and a half's worth of gunk and grime. Drying his face with the hem of his t-shirt, he poked around the area for anything that would carry water but came up empty. Sheppard would have to wake up and get his own damn water.

The wrappers glinted in the sunlight, and he picked them up as he made his way back, snacking on one and stuffing the rest in his pockets. When he burst through the foliage, he found Sheppard exactly where he'd left him, still unconscious but surrounded by their three severely pissed off captors. Huey, Dewey, and Louie whirled at his approach, aiming stunners at his head. Heart sinking, Rodney swallowed the last bite as he slid to a stop and raised his hands.

"Um, hi."

Dewey, a tattooed pro-wrestling reject with a buzz cut and several missing teeth, strode forward and backhanded him with the butt of a stunner. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and Rodney went down hard, curling into a ball with a yelp when a boot repeatedly connected with his ribs.

"Stop!" commanded Huey, the leader of the crew. He was tall and thin with long stringy hair that hadn't been washed in quite a while and ordinary features. Except for the eyes. "We need him mobile. Unless you want to carry them both back."

With a growl, Dewey yanked Rodney to his feet and shoved him toward Sheppard. "Pick him up."

Rodney gave his best Ronon glare, one hand cradling his side and the other dabbing at the blood dribbling down his face. When that didn't work, he tried the Sheppard approach. "I think I pulled something earlier, and you just dented my ribcage. Couldn't we wait until he wakes up or something?"

Huey considered Rodney for a moment, glancing between him and Sheppard. Coming to some sort of decision, he smiled as he tucked his stunner into the belt of his leathers and drew a pistol. He chambered a round and pressed the muzzle to Sheppard's knee.

"Now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay." So much for the Sheppard approach. Palms out in surrender, Rodney took a tentative step forward. "Okay, no need to shoot anybody. Geez, rabid bunch of Neanderthals." He knelt and hefted Sheppard across his shoulders. Rising slowly to his feet, he followed Huey through the forest.

A rippling of the muscles underneath his hand was the only sign of Sheppard's returning awareness.

Head down, Rodney whispered, "They caught us. Don't move."

The arm went limp again.

When the ground began to slope downward, Rodney struggled to stay upright, but even though he worked out – maybe not as much as his teammates but he was a scientist after all – his body wasn't used to carrying such an excruciatingly heavy burden and finally gave out. He fell to his knees and ducked instinctively, letting go of Sheppard in the process. Sheppard landed on the back of Rodney's legs and rolled off immediately, launching himself at Dewey.

He hit the big man in his mid-section and drove him to the ground. Rodney scrambled to his feet and body-slammed into Louie, a horse jockey wannabe who crumpled in a heap. Sheppard pounded Dewey with a couple of impressive punches before a shot cracked the air and a bullet whizzed by Rodney's ear.

"The next one won't miss," Huey warned.

Rodney sagged in defeat as Sheppard stood and dropped his arms. Dewey roared in anger and charged, slamming his fist viciously into Sheppard's face until Huey cocked the gun in his ear.

"If his value is decreased for any reason, you will forfeit your share of the earnings."

Dewey pushed away, and Rodney offered Sheppard a hand up while Louie staggered to his feet. The trio escorted them the rest of the way at gunpoint.

"Way to wake up _after_ they catch us again," Rodney muttered, studiously ignoring Sheppard's split lip and the rapid swelling around his eye that was going to be one hell of a shiner.

"Not your fault, McKay," Sheppard responded quietly as he pressed the heel of his hand to the bleeding cut on his temple.

Rodney scowled at him, chin jutting out. "I didn't say it was." He heaved a sigh. "But if Ronon had been here-"

"We'd probably all be dead."

"That's not true. You would've escaped."

"With his temper? They would have shot us all by now."

"Oh, please. He's smart enough to know when to act and when not to." Rodney cut his eyes toward Sheppard. "If you tell him I said that, I'll deny it."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, wincing slightly as he worked his jaw. "Even if he'd been with us on Silem, there's no guarantee he'd have been brought here, wherever here is. They were looking for you and me."

"Really?"

"I overheard them before we busted out. They're bounty hunters."

"Seriously? Who's looking for us now?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Don't know."

"We are really screwed."

"Think positive, McKay."

"Shut up back there," Huey ordered.

"I am positive," Rodney hissed, "that we are screwed. No one knows where we are. How do you think we're going to get out of here?"

"That's what I have you around for. Use that big brain of yours."

Huey wheeled, his pistol aimed at Sheppard's head. "Not another word."

xxx

When they reached the wooden transport, Dewey shoved them into the enclosed back and bound their wrists with the remaining leather straps to the metal bar that ran the length of cart. He sat near the gate, gun drawn, while the other two climbed in the front and guided a team of moose-on-steroids down the cheese-grater path.

Rodney tried to flex his numb, purpling fingers. "Got any ideas?"

"Shut up!" Dewey growled.

They traveled for a while – at least an hour – Rodney's kidneys making note of every rut and pothole along the way. A few curves in a downward direction ended in the splash of water and the crunch of rock.

"Whatever they're paying you, we'll double it," Sheppard offered.

"Do you actually listen to any of those movies you make me watch?" Rodney hissed as Dewey glared. "That never works."

"You asked if I had any ideas."

"I should have said any good ideas."

"Well, I'm still waiting for you to come up with one, genius."

"Now that's just-"

"Shut up." Dewey cocked the hammer and aimed at Rodney. "Shut up before I decide killing you is worth more than the reward."

The wagon ground to a painful halt a short time later. The gate opened, and Dewey stood guard while Louie climbed in and undid their bonds.

Huey looked in as Dewey and Louie hopped out. "Strip. Now."

"What?" McKay squeaked. "Here? Have you lost your mind?"

As the bounty hunter turned those cruel eyes in his direction, Sheppard whispered, "Do as the man says."

Rodney blinked at Sheppard who had already pulled his shirt off and was unlacing his boots. "I- I- I don't-"

"Now, McKay."

Hunching his shoulders, he complied, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the far wall.

"God, Rodney, what did you do in gym class?"

"Do I strike you as someone who actually participated in gym class?"

"Good point. You wouldn't have lasted long in the military either."

"Ah, there's that Mensa intellect at work."

"Do you two ever shut up?" Huey growled as he tossed dingy draw-string pants at them. "Get dressed."

McKay cinched the trousers tightly around his waist and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "What was the point of that?"

Sheppard tracked Huey as he walked away before responding. "So nothing will identify us as being from Atlantis."

"I thought they were looking for us specifically. Wouldn't they already know that's where we're from?"

"But nobody would be able to walk into town and recognize us."

"Like our off-world contacts," Rodney said glumly. "Great."

Dewey glanced away then waved his gun at them. "Get out."

Rodney followed Sheppard out, blinking in the afternoon sun. They were in the middle of a shabby collection of dilapidated buildings and gaunt, hollow-eyed townspeople. Huey exchanged a few words and several forceful hand gestures with a frail man with thinning silver hair and a cane. Finally the old man nodded and opened a small bag, pulling out a shiny object. Huey looked it over, nodded, stuffed it in his pocket, and headed back to the wagon.

Sheppard's eyes had been in constant motion as he studied the area. He turned to Rodney with an intent expression. "We may not be in as much trouble as I thought."

"Really?"

"Have you ever seen starvation?"

"In National Geographic and the occasional documentary. Oh, and we had to read-"

"McKay," Sheppard sighed. "I meant in person."

"Like you have."

"Yes, Rodney, I have. There was a mission to a place…. Anyway, my guidance system was knocked out, and I made a hard landing in a not-so-nice spot."

"On Earth?"

"Of course, on Earth."

"Oh."

"You really have to get out of the lab more often."

"Where the hell do you think I am right now?"

Sheppard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look at these people, Rodney. What do you see?"

"Dirty, skinny imbeciles who had us kidna…" Rodney's gaze locked on a little girl with sharp bones and a distended stomach. Give her a bath and dress her in pink and she could be Madison. "This doesn't make any sense. Why pay-"

He broke off when Sheppard jabbed an elbow in his still aching ribs. The bounty hunters glared as they rolled by in the wagon, heading back up the Worst Road Ever, presumably to the gate and out of his life forever.

The old man hobbled toward them, head bowed. "I am so sorry," he whispered, raising horror-filled eyes. "This was a mistake, a misunderstanding."

Rage shot through Rodney. "Misunderstanding? How do you-"

"McKay," Sheppard snapped, "let the man talk."

"But-"

"Rodney."

"Please," the old man begged, "please forgive this indiscretion." He waved a gnarled hand and a woman scurried up, handing them threadbare tunics and ragged shoes. "We had no wish for you to be treated in such a matter. Those…barbarians mistook our request. We offered payment for information about you, a way to contact you, to ask for help. We never meant…" He shook his head sadly, a wispy sigh escaping.

Rodney frowned at the scraps of material that could laughingly be described as footwear. "What could you have possibly given them as payment?"

"The only thing of value we had – a weapon I found at the Mreqil market several years ago." He flashed a smile and pulled a crystal from his pocket. "Of course, it won't work without this."

Sheppard grinned. "I'm John Sheppard and this is Rodney McKay."

"I am Demec. Welcome to Ebalron."

xxx

A cool bath and eight icy glasses of water later, Rodney felt almost human. He was still stuck in his scratchy tunic and trousers without even a single PowerBar to his name, but at least he wasn't in a cell or mining rock or any of the other thousands of horrible outcomes he'd imagined. Demec had offered his hovel as a place for them to rest and clean up then invited them to the town square. A large tree with thick oval leaves shaded a good portion of the ground. Rodney sank onto the cool black soil with a sigh.

Sheppard leaned against the tree trunk, arms crossed, and smirked at him. "Comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I'm going to be until I get back home."

"Exactly how are you planning on doing that?"

"I'll think of something. If you had set up a new alpha site already…"

"You know, uninhabited planets that aren't on the radar of the Replicators or the Wraith and that don't have dinosaurs or active supervolcanoes or ice ages aren't that easy to come by. We've already had two compromised this year. I'm working on it."

"Yes, well, without radios or GDOs or an alpha site, we're stuck. I don't have anything to rig a signal, and I don't relish going splat against the shield. We don't even know how many gates they took us through. Atlantis might not be able to track us."

"Then we'll come up with another way. Maybe one of our trading partners…"

Demec's brow wrinkled. "You have no way of returning home?"

"The men who, uh, brought us here took all of our equipment," Sheppard explained. "We need it to contact Atlantis in order to return."

The old man's face turned ashen. "Truly?" He seemed to crumple. "Your people were our last hope."

Rodney exchanged a quick _what the hell_ glance with Sheppard. "Um, could you be a little more specific? What's the problem?"

"The wood from our forests is used to construct the finest homes and buildings on dozens of worlds. We chop the timber and float it down the mountain stream to a facility the Ancestors left us to cut it to size and treat it. We have been experiencing power fluctuations for years now. Our production has continued to slow, forcing us to accept fewer orders and receive less food in trade. We've attempted farming, but we have neither the expertise nor the seed necessary. My people are starving." He drew a shaky hand over his face as his voice broke. "The power failed altogether several weeks ago." He looked at them bleakly. "We have heard rumors for some time now of people living in the City of the Ancestors, people who knew how to operate the technology. Your names have been mentioned. We had hoped…"

"That we could fix your facility," Sheppard finished. "We'll be happy to take a look."

"And by 'we' he means me." Rodney rolled to his feet. "Show me."

Demec's face lit. "You will help us? Even after what happened?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Like you said, it was a misunderstanding. Happens to us all the time."

They followed Demec through town to a heavily traveled road that skirted the edge of the forest and disappeared into the side of the mountain. Rodney walked as close to Sheppard as he could without being obvious. The set of Sheppard's shoulders told him the man wasn't completely sold on Demec's innocence either, but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt to get near Ancient technology and a way to contact Atlantis.

Rodney frowned as they crossed the threshold of the facility. Building inside a mountain wasn't the Ancients' style. They valued beautiful structures, choosing to cloak if they wanted to hide.

Sheppard's step became hesitant. "McKay?"

"I know. Something's wrong."

Torches flickered to life as Demec's people spread out. The room was small, cramped, filled with ugly machinery similar to early twentieth century logging on Earth. The air reeked of oils and chemicals, and a thick layer of saw dust coated everything.

"Um, Demec," Sheppard said. "How long have your people lived on this world?"

"For several hundred years."

"And this place was here when you arrived?"

"Yes," the man answered proudly. "We felt fortunate to find a place the Ancestors had favored."

"I hate to tell you this," Rodney broke in, "but this isn't Ancie- I mean Ancestor, uh, stuff."

Demec blinked at him. "I do not understand."

Sheppard bit his lip. "The Ancestors didn't build this place. Somebody else did."

"But- but it is so advanced."

Rodney snorted. "Hardly." At Sheppard's glare, he amended, "That is, it's advanced but not as advanced as Ancestor technology."

Demec's eyes widened in despair. "What will we do?"

Rodney felt Sheppard's gaze on him. He looked at the ceiling, the floor, the saw blade with several bent teeth. "Fine. I'll take a look at it."

"You can fix it?" Demec asked breathlessly.

"Yes. Most likely." Rodney folded his arms over his chest. "Probably. I mean, I don't have any tools or anything so there's only so much I can do, but-"

"Just show us where the power room is," Sheppard interrupted.

Demec led them past worktables and storage shelves to a door in the back that led to a stairwell. Rodney blinked into the darkness. Stairs leading downward glinted faintly in the light of the torch Sheppard had been handed.

"What's down there?" Rodney asked.

"Some sort of generator. Our people were never able to make any sense of it."

Rodney ran a critical eye over the stairs. Metal-hemmed wood, they looked fairly solid. In all likelihood, this was going to be a giant waste of time, but if these people had been sophisticated enough to construct a generator that could power a saw mill then maybe, just maybe, they had some type of radio.

"Only one way to find out," he muttered as he stepped in.

The stairs creaked and groaned but didn't sway as he and Sheppard made their way down. Demec, too unsteady to navigate the steps, remained at the top for a few minutes then disappeared. Stale, musty air and a stench that made Rodney's eyes water grew stronger as they reached the bottom. The room was small, a few storage shelves on one side and a broken generator on the other. Their torches weren't sufficient light to properly diagnose and repair all the problems, but perhaps he could coax it to life enough to get some lights on.

"Can you do anything with it?" Sheppard asked.

"Yeah," he replied absently. "It's Telnorran. Looks like it needs a new capacitor and a couple of diodes since these are cracked. I hope they have some _q'salc_ around here."

Sheppard's face scrunched. "_Q'salc_? What's that?"

"It's the fuel this thing runs on."

"When we were on Telnorra?"

"We weren't. I-" Rodney's brain finally caught up with his mouth. Maybe he could distract Sheppard. "See what you can find on those shelves over there. I need one of those," he pointed at the broken capacitor, "and two of these," he said, indicating the diodes. "I'll look for the _q'salc_."

Sheppard rooted through the shelves. "You didn't answer my question, McKay."

"Hmm? What question was that?" _Please don't ask where I saw a generator like this._

"If we haven't been to Telnorra, how do you know about their generators?"

"Saw it on another planet. Did you find anything?"

Glass clanged against metal. Sheppard muttered a curse as something crunched. "Not yet. Which planet?"

Damn it, the man could be a pit bull when he wanted to. Rodney sucked at lying, figured Sheppard would know even if he couldn't see his face, but he really didn't want to dredge it back up now.

The small container sloshed when he kicked it, and a whiff confirmed it. "Aha! _Q'salc_." He scurried back to the generator and checked the chamber. Plenty of _yahrik_. The reaction when he poured the _q'salc_ in should boot the generator right up, assuming Sheppard found the parts he needed.

"Here." Sheppard crouched next to him and shoved a capacitor and two diodes at him. "Will these work?"

"Hold this." Rodney handed the torch to Sheppard then trailed his fingers delicately over the parts, rotating them slowly in the dim light. No fractures or defects that he could detect. "Yeah, I think so." He set them down carefully and began removing the damaged ones.

"I realize we've been to a lot of planets, McKay, but I don't remember seeing anything like this. Was it-"

"In Ford's cave," Rodney said quietly. "Jace had a few in Ford's cave. I helped him repair one while we were there."

Sheppard's quick inhale said everything. The man had never quite been able to put losing Ford behind him. It had shaken Rodney more than he'd like to admit. He hadn't been as close to Ford as Sheppard had, but to watch the enzyme twist that happy-go-lucky kid into something almost unrecognizable had ripped a hole in his heart. The only time he'd ever seen Sheppard completely hammered was shortly after they got back. John had packed Ford's belongings then vanished. It took the three of them almost two hours to find him on the south pier. Rodney had hurried back to the control room to direct Ronon and Teyla to empty halls as they carried Sheppard to his quarters. They'd never spoken of it.

"His cousin emails me every year on his birthday."

Rodney held his breath, stunned. He was rarely – well, never – speechless, but he had no idea how to respond.

"He'll be twenty-nine in a couple of months."

Will be, not would have been.

"You think he's still alive?" Rodney asked, keeping his eyes trained on the generator. He knew there was no way Ford had gotten off that hive. They'd kidnapped Sheppard because Ford couldn't fly the dart.

Sheppard sighed heavily. "I don't know."

A big admission for Mr. Optimism. John clung to hope like no one else. Rodney had no idea why Sheppard was suddenly willing to talk. Maybe it was the darkness, maybe the close call with the bounty hunters. He didn't care. But he did have something he'd been thinking about for a few months now.

"Have you ever thought about what would have happened if Ford hadn't left Atlantis?"

"McKay-"

"No, I mean it. If Ford hadn't been jacked up on enzyme and ran away, so much would be different. We wouldn't know the effects of the enzyme for one. We wouldn't know, or at least wouldn't have known as soon, about the Wraith infighting, about Wraith worshipers. Or runners."

"We wouldn't have found Ronon."

Rodney angled to face him. "Exactly. No way Lorne's team would have found him. Not with Parrish's yammering."

Something flickered in Sheppard's eyes. Apparently Rodney wasn't the only one still haunted by the sight of Ronon striding through the stargate, his belongings in hand. That damn painting had been the only thing left.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that I would have traded Ford…" Rodney turned back to the generator. "Forget it."

Sheppard was quiet for a moment then settled a strong hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I know you wouldn't. The universe is a strange place, I guess. Took Ford, gave us Ronon."

"Do you think it was a coincidence that they were on the same planet?"

"Now you're beginning to freak me out."

"It's just, I don't believe in coincidence. Never have."

Sheppard arched a brow. "You think someone orchestrated it?"

"I…have no idea. I think I've questioned everything I've ever believed in the last four years."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Rodney McKay?"

"Shut up." He shoved Sheppard's shoulder and chuckled when John sat down hard, a toothy grin shining in the firelight. "I'm finished. Let's see if she'll work."

The engine coughed and sputtered. Rodney adjusted a few settings, and the chugging smoothed out a bit.

"Why aren't the lights on?" Sheppard asked from somewhere over his right shoulder.

"Maybe someone turned them off. Do you see any kind of controls?"

Sheppard moved around the room, his torch held close to the wall. "Maybe. This might- Ow!" He slung his hand then swiped the back of his neck. "Something's crawling on me."

"Probably whatever's been nesting in your hair."

"Seriously, McKay, get it off." Sheppard's voice was tinged with panic. "Ow! Now, damn it!"

"Okay, okay." Rodney stood, shaking out numb legs, and shuffled over. "What is the- Holy shit, Sheppard! There's- there's like a dozen scorpion-looking things on your back!"

"Get them off!"

"With what?"

"I don't care! Just…just…" Sheppard yelped and dropped his torch as he slapped at his back, his shuddering body casting drunken shadows. "Make it stop!"

Rodney grabbed the fallen torch, stabbing the fire out and swiping at the bugs. Most fell and scrabbled away into the darkness, but one landed on his arm and plunged its stinger deep in his forearm, right where Kolya had twisted that knife. He yelped as pain shot through him and beat crazily at it with the torch. The bug toppled off, its barbed tail stabbing repeatedly at the ground. He blinked in dismay at the rags pretending to be shoes until Sheppard snatched Rodney's torch from his hand and slammed it down on the bug. The sizzle and stench of burnt arachnid turned Rodney's stomach, and he swallowed convulsively as bile rose.

"We need to get out of here," Sheppard slurred. "Now."

"What about the lights?"

"Screw the lights." Sheppard stumbled forward, tripping over the first step and face-planting on the stairs.

"Sheppard! What the hell?" Rodney reached for him and bit back a screech when fire radiated from the spot of the sting to his shoulder. "Oh, this is not good."

He could feel the venom racing through his veins, igniting the nerves in his chest and back. Sheppard screamed and flopped weakly on the stairs. Rodney rolled him over, ignoring the blood dripping down his face.

"Come on, John. Get up."

Sheppard clutched at Rodney's sleeve but couldn't seem to make his fingers work properly. His back arched, and every tendon and vein in his neck bulged as he screamed. He blinked helplessly at Rodney while his body convulsed.

"Sheppard? Sheppard! John! Don't do this." He pulled Sheppard up when the tremors declined and slung an arm around him. "Help!"

His voice echoed, and his imagination kicked in. A thousand insect legs skittered over his skin. He was boiling on the inside. His heart hammered; his breath came in ragged gasps. Oh, God, he was going to die!

"Help me!" he screamed.

The roar of machines overhead suddenly registered. The saw mill was running. Muscle cramps knotted his arm and spread quickly. He didn't have much time. Rodney gritted his teeth and focused on one step at a time. Sheppard shuddered, panted, muttered about bugs in Pegasus and bull's eyes.

"Hold on, John. We're almost there."

Light danced becomingly in the doorway. Rodney staggered, leaning against the wall as his back spasmed. John cried out, the muscles in his arm and back knotting until they were rock hard under Rodney's palms. Reaching the top, Rodney stumbled into the factory and sank to his knees, letting John slide to the floor and collapsing beside him.

"You have done it!" Demec's exultant voice rang out. "You- What has happened?"

Rodney rolled onto his back, grimacing as pain raged through his chest. "Some kind of…big-assed bug stung us."

Demec's eyes widened. "A _januc_? About this long," he held his hands a quarter meter apart, "with a barbed tail?"

Rodney nodded as he pushed himself against the wall and checked John. The gash on his forehead from his fall was still bleeding freely. His eyes were swollen shut, and the area around the sting on his neck was streaked white. He clawed the ground, biting his lip until it bled.

"The _januc's_ venom has been known to kill. How many times were you stung?"

"Just once," Rodney replied, "but he was stung at least three times."

"There is little hope for your friend," Demec said sadly. "Your pain will be great for about a day, but you look strong. You should recover."

"You don't have an antidote or something?" Rodney refused to believe a man like John could die like this. Not after the hell they'd been through.

"I am sorry. There is nothing."

"Tr-tr-trading p-p-partners," John stammered, shivering uncontrollably, sweat slicking his skin.

"What? Oh, oh, of course. Um, let's see." Rodney hissed through clenched teeth to hold the scream of pain inside. "The Manarans hate us. Uh, the Belkans only speak to Teyla. Oh, crap, okay, um, oh, Harmony." He squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the cramps contorting his insides. "I need something to write with."

Demec snapped his fingers; paper and charcoal appeared moments later. "Will this do?"

"Yes." Rodney concentrated on drawing the symbols to the girl's world on one side then scribbled a note on the other. "Be sure you give this to Queen Harmony. Tell her Doctor McKay will be her slave forever-"

"M-m-mcKay."

"Right, bad idea. Okay, um, tell her I'll owe her one. Have her contact Atlantis and give them this. Oh, write the symbols to this world on there so they'll know how to find us. Tell them to hurry."

Demec nodded and hobbled away. John whimpered, curling tightly then gasping as his body convulsed.

Rodney gripped his shoulder. "Hang on, John."

The convulsions worsened. John's eyes rolled back in his head as muscles became stone. Rodney pressed on the tightest ones near his neck, blinking back tears as his chest tightened. When John went limp, Rodney crawled away and retched. Spent, he rested his forehead against the dirty floor until a rhythmic thumping told him John's spasms were back. He scooted over and leaned against the wall then pulled John's shivering form to his chest.

"Hold on," Rodney whispered.

"I'm trying."

A few villagers brought blankets and water. Rodney managed to get a few sips down but couldn't hold John still enough to give him any even with two men helping. The pain ripping his insides apart made Rodney want to claw his eyes out; he couldn't imagine what John was feeling. What was most worrisome were his blue-tinged lips and the wheezing. Rodney had experienced enough allergic reactions to recognize one. Not anaphylaxis, but still a serious reaction.

Time crawled. Logically, Rodney knew it hadn't been more than forty-five minutes and since they were further than that from the gate, help wouldn't arrive for some time. He wanted to panic. He wanted to scream at someone, point fingers, rant at the top of his lungs on the unfairness of the galaxy and the idiocy of bounty hunters. But he didn't. He wrapped his arms around John's chest and prayed for help to hurry, tears of pain freely streaming down his face.

John was too weak to shudder now. He lay in Rodney's arms, panting for air and clawing the floor until his nails ripped, his lips and throat too swollen to allow much in. Rodney shifted John carefully, crying out when pain shot through his chest. Slightly more upright, John sucked in a deeper breath and relaxed against Rodney, his head lolling to the side.

"Don't you give up on me. They'll be here."

Tufts of spiky hair scratched Rodney's face.

"I'm assuming that was a nod since not even your hair grows that fast." Rodney took the soft grunt to be a laugh. "You know, if you were going for a team with the best hair, you missed with me. Ronon and Teyla are keepers though. Seriously-" He swallowed thickly as his stomach roiled. _Not now_. "We're going to have to register Ronon's dreads as lethal weapons if he keeps growing them. Last time we were off-world, he spun around at something you said and almost knocked me down."

John's back arched and his hands clutched at Rodney's legs.

"Breathe," Rodney begged, rubbing the corded muscles in John's neck. "Just breathe. They're coming."

A whimper rode on John's whistle of breath. Rodney's stomach heaved, and he scuttled away to retch. His pulse thundered in his ears, and agony tap-danced down his spine. He dragged himself back and held his hand in front of John's mouth, sagging in relief when he felt staccato bursts of air.

"Rodney?" a feminine voice called.

He glanced up as Keller and a med team raced toward him, Lorne and a squad of Marines on their heels.

"Oh, thank God. Help him."

She peered at Rodney for a second. "Marie, take a look at him," she murmured then turned her attention to John. "What happened?"

Rodney offered his arm to the med tech. "Got stung by some kind of scorpion-looking thing. Just once in the arm for me, but John got stung several times."

The tech pressed on the bite mark, and Rodney's world turned red. The next few minutes were hazy – the tech shouting for help, hands on his arms and legs, a glimpse of Keller sliding a tube down John's throat. Pain raced through his chest. His heart stuttered. When blackness came for him, he willingly succumbed.

xxx

Rodney jerked awake when the muscle cramps started again. He was on his back, flying, ceiling tiles blurring overhead. Gurney.

"Sick," he mumbled, trying to roll on his side.

The gurney screeched to a halt and strong hands held him as he dry-heaved. Slumping back, he nodded and clenched his eyes shut when the racing began again. The flurry of activity around him overloaded his senses, and he moaned, begging to be knocked out.

"I can't do that, Doctor," a soft voice said. "We haven't determined the kind of toxin in your system. Doctor Velasquez is testing the insect we brought back."

"John?"

"We're doing everything we can."

After several agonizing minutes, the noise level dropped, and he cautiously opened an eye. John was in the bed next to him, hooked up to so many machines that Rodney couldn't see his face, but the heart monitor beeped reassuringly.

Rodney shuddered as the cramps spread, balling his fists in the sheets. Tears pricked his eyes as the bands in his chest tightened, and he couldn't hold in a groan. Shoes squeaked on the floor nearby.

"What's wrong, Rodney?" Keller asked.

"Hurts," he stammered, sucking in a ragged breath.

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

A nurse approached and handed her a report. Keller frowned at it then turned sympathetic eyes his way.

"What?"

"The venom is similar to that of a box jellyfish."

"And that means what, exactly?"

"According to Doctor Velasquez, that kind of jellyfish is one of the most venomous creatures on Earth."

Rodney groaned as the nerve endings in his arm scorched and throbbed. "Whatever. Just give me something for the pain."

"You're already on the strongest pain meds we have. Nothing's going to alleviate it. That's the curse of this type of venom. It has to run its course."

"Seriously? We can travel between galaxies," he hissed as his arm spasmed, "but we don't have anything for a bug bite?"

"We're still checking the database for information, but we haven't found anything yet."

"That's the most- Oh, God, John! What about Sheppard?"

Keller's frown deepened. "The toll on his body is incredible. The strain on his heart…" She glanced at John. "He's fighting as hard as he can. The allergic reaction made it worse. He must have been stung with a similar toxin before to react this way. We finally got it under control, and he's breathing on his own for now."

"For now?"

"His body is tiring. If he doesn't improve soon, I'll have to intubate him." She sighed and turned back to him, pulling a syringe from her lab coat. "I can give you something for the nausea, and Ezra will be by soon to help with the muscle cramps." She injected the medication in the IV port and squeezed his hand lightly. "Try to get some rest." She waved down the lights and disappeared around the corner.

Rest wasn't possible. When the muscle cramps died down, his heart pounded and bolts of pain shot through his arm and chest. His arm itched to the point he thought he'd go mad. Muscle twitches turned to spasms then became tremors. Just when his body had exhausted itself, John started screaming. Medical personnel descended in organized chaos. Nothing worked. Alarms blared as the convulsions began.

Rodney begged his legs to hold him as he crawled out of bed and leaned on his IV pole to shuffle over.

"Do something," he hissed at the night-shift attending physician.

The woman barely spared him a glance. "Go back to bed, Doctor McKay."

"Not until you help him!"

"If I give him any more sedation, it will stop his heart! We are doing everything we can."

John's face was a mask of agony. He had a death grip on the bed's rails, his breath coming in short, rasping pants. Sweat had plastered his hair to his skull, and his pallid complexion only highlighted the cuts and bruises.

The whine of the alarms slowly ceased as everything returned to normal, and John slumped, moaning.

"There really isn't anything you can do?" Rodney asked.

"I wish there was." She frowned as he doubled over when the cramps started again. "You need to be in bed."

"I'm going." He moved slowly toward his bed until the room cleared then headed back to John's side. "Hey."

John stared dully at him. "Hey."

"Well, this sucks."

"Yeah." John's neck arched and his eyes went wide as he strangled on a scream. "Oh, God, _please_," he begged, "make it stop."

Rodney's heart twisted. "I wish I could. You have to hold on."

John flailed, slamming a fist against the rails as a shudder ran through him. "Not…sure…I can." He whimpered, curling on his side then rolling onto his back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He gaped at John, more scared by the admission than by anything else. "You're going to give up?"

"It hurts," John gasped, grabbing at his chest. "Even worse than getting fed on."

"You survived that, and you'll survive this, too." Rodney gripped John's shoulder, feeling the corded muscles spasming. "Fight it."

John sagged. "I'm so tired."

"I know."

Sunken eyes focused on him. "How are you?"

"Awful. This has been the worst day _ever_. I-" Rodney caught himself when John cried out and clawed at the back of his neck. "I had a huge splinter in my thumb. I may have lost use of it after the voodoo priestess yanked it out. And I'm quite sure my back will never recover from hauling you around. You owe me a month's worth of desserts, by the way. And a massage." Rodney's nails bit into his palm as he fought the muscle cramps in his stomach.

A ghost of a smile crossed John's features. "Got the perfect place for you. Moe's House of Pain in Boston."

"Oh, as if. You're not getting off that easily, my friend. I-" He broke off when John's eyes rolled back in his head and the convulsions began again.

And on it went – hour after hour of mind-numbing pain and screaming. Ronon and Teyla were allowed a quick visit. Sam and Radek came by. Rodney stammered out his report the best he could then they were shooed away. Keller asked if he wanted to be moved, but he refused; the idea of not being there if something happened was more than he could take.

John screamed until his voice gave out. Somehow soundless screaming was even more horrifying. The convulsions seemed to ease, but the doctor informed him that John's body was too exhausted to respond to the nerve impulses. When John's pulse-ox began to drop, the med team intubated him, adding the gentle whoosh and hiss of the vent to the myriad of other monitor sounds. Ignoring his own cramps and spasms, Rodney sat by John's side until he finally, mercifully, slid into unconsciousness.

Sometime after dawn, Rodney's body had enough. He dropped off into a dreamless state and slept like the dead for most of the day, waking in the late evening to quiet humming. Teyla sat between them, sewing intricate patterns on a small piece of cloth. Rodney tried to speak but only managed an undignified croak.

She glanced up, a brilliant smile lighting her face as she stood and gripped his hand tightly. "It is good to see you awake. Would you like some water?"

When his stomach seemed fine with the idea, he nodded slowly. Teyla helped him sit up and handed him a cup with a straw. The cool liquid worked wonders on his parched throat.

"Thanks," he rasped, eyes darting to John. "How is he?"

"Better. His heartbeat has stabilized. Doctor Cole said he is past the worst of it."

"So, he's going to be fine, right?"

"He will be in a great deal of pain for the next couple of days, and it will take a few weeks to regain his strength, but he should recover fully."

"Good. That's, um, that's good." He turned away, staring at the far wall as he reined in his emotions.

Teyla wasn't fooled. "What is it?" she asked, holding his hand again.

"Nothing. I just…I-" He scrubbed his free hand over his face. "This is my fault. If I hadn't gotten us caught again. If I hadn't tried to fix that damn generator. If I'd-"

"Rodney."

He glanced up at her sharp tone.

Her face softened in understanding. "You saved John."

"I didn't-"

"You figured out how to contact Atlantis and kept him alive until help arrived."

He smiled shyly as sleep began to tug at him. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Yes, you did." Teyla's eyes danced with mischief. "Queen Harmony was quite insistent that we save you. I believe she is taken with you."

"Tell me she's gone home."

"She has. Now," she patted his hand and returned to her chair, "rest. Ronon or I will be here when you waken."

xxx

"You cheated!"

"What?" Sheppard whispered, arching an indignant brow. "I did not. You left that bishop completely unguarded."

Rodney glared fiercely and reached for his rook. "Take that!"

Sheppard shook his head and moved his queen. "Checkmate."

"What! How-"

"Face it, McKay. I'm better at chess than you."

"In your dreams, flyboy." Rodney reached to reset the game then caught Sheppard's jaw-cracking yawn. "You've been asleep for almost four days. How can you possibly be tired?"

"Not tired." Sheppard stifled another yawn. "Set it up, Jet Li. I'll kick your ass again."

"The next person who walks by is going to trip over those bags under your eyes. And stop calling me Jet Li." Rodney packed the board and pieces in the box and stuffed it in the bedside stand. "We'll play again tomorrow. I'd hate to take advantage of someone in your condition."

"Someone in my- Get that back out. We'll see who is in what kind of condition." John hissed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Whatever." Rodney flexed his fingers as his arm throbbed. The toxin had left his system with a few residual side effects that Keller said would clear by the end of the week. He'd been released from the infirmary but not back to duty yet. "Stop talking before Keller kills both of us. Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Another yawn split Sheppard's face, and he grinned sheepishly as his lids drooped. "Good night, McKay." His eyes closed then bounced open. "You did good, Rodney. Back on that planet." His eyes slowly slid shut. "Wouldn't trade you for anybody else."

Rodney smiled as the doors closed. "You either."

* * *

_Written as a Christmas gift for xerikahx who wanted bugs, blood, McKay and Sheppard whump (more for Sheppard), male bonding, snark, and McKay comforting Sheppard. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	16. A Rampart of Defense

_A/N: Spoilers through Brainstorm_

**A Rampart of Defense**

John shivered and zipped his parka against the cold. The MALP readings hadn't done this planet justice. He squinted in the pre-dawn light, sensing Ronon and Teyla fanning out on either side as McKay redialed Atlantis and sent the MALP home. A barren landscape in shades of gray stretched before him; boulders littered the hard-packed trail that cut through towering buttes and disappeared in the distance.

"Not even a welcoming committee," McKay grumped, briskly rubbing gloved hands.

"You are certain they were expecting us?" Teyla asked.

"According to the message Woolsey received." John shrugged. "They asked us to come. You got anything?" he asked McKay.

Rodney fumbled with a pocket then jerked a glove off angrily and pulled a scanner from his vest. "Hmmm… Minimal energy readings…" He turned slowly, his brows drawing together. "Oh, hello. Life signs and something interesting," he waved vaguely forward, "that way."

"That way it is," John said. "Teyla, take our six."

John let Ronon lead while he took a moment to stargaze. As beautiful as Atlantis was, its brightness obscured most of the night sky. Rarely did he get a display like this – shining diamonds against a velvety blackness of such depth he couldn't grasp it. The constellations were different here, and he'd already spotted Daffy Duck and was pondering Scooby Doo when Rodney bumped into him.

"Sorry," McKay whispered, his face scrunched in chagrin. "I was, um…"

John grinned at him and jerked his chin toward the stars. "We have the coolest job ever."

McKay's eyes drifted upward again. "Yeah," he murmured.

He wanted to be surprised at the childlike wonder on Rodney's face, but he couldn't be. McKay wasn't the same man who had stepped through the gate five years ago. Time and circumstances had changed him, had changed all of them. John trusted his team in ways he'd never thought possible. Rodney smiled more. Ronon's restlessness was disappearing. Teyla sang out loud when she walked down the hall, whether Torren was with her or not. Of course, not every change had been for the better. Elizabeth…

John shook the reverie off and concentrated on the world around him. The hush of the desert seemed to have cast a spell on all of them; only the crunch of sand and the skitter of rock broke the silence. Gold bands of dawn warmed the landscape to red.

"Oh," Teyla breathed.

John glanced back then followed her gaze. "Wow."

A sea of flickering firelight dotted the buttes ahead, hundreds of tiny flames dancing in the wind and illumining the city that was carved into the cliffs.

"Life signs, lots of them," Rodney stated. "At least a couple thousand."

John tightened his grip on his P-90. Invited or not, they were walking into unfamiliar territory. Ronon's shoulders tensed, his hand sliding toward his blaster.

"What is it?"

"Two people."

"Armed?"

Ronon squinted. "Can't tell."

John took the lead. "Let's go find out."

He put on his friendliest smile and headed toward them. The woman was tall, willowy, her pale hair whipping in the breeze. The man was all muscle, and his dark skin gleamed in the light of the torch he held. Both wore heavy furs and high boots, and their faces bore the marks of time and harsh weather.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of Atlantis. This is Doctor Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex. I believe you were expecting us."

The woman appraised each of them in turn then focused on John. "Your promptness is appreciated, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard."

"Please, call me John. Titles take too long."

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "Very well, John. I am Colla of Lilpotai, and this is Miltre."

At her wave, the man bowed slightly and brought his fingertips to his eyes in salute. "We bring you greetings from the Council of Elders. Thank you for coming. We look forward to hearing about the advantages of joining the Coalition."

Only someone who knew Teyla extremely well would have noticed the ripple of surprise on her face. "We will be most happy to present all the benefits of Coalition membership. A more thorough knowledge of your culture and history would ensure that we discuss what is most important to you."

"Of course," Colla replied. "We will begin in our Hall of Remembrance."

She led them along a hedge of stone that held the distinctive odor of a stable. Miltre ducked around the end then emerged with reins in hand. Six pack animals followed him out. Short, squatty, and painfully ugly, they bore a disturbing resemblance to warthogs.

"Oh, I don't think so," Rodney said.

Colla glanced at McKay as Ronon's hand landed on his shoulder and curled tightly. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," McKay squeaked. "Not a thing."

John frowned at the venom in the glare Rodney shot Ronon when Colla's back was turned. He wasn't sure exactly what had caused the tension that simmered below the surface, but so far they hadn't let it affect their professional responsibilities, and John had been content to let them work it out themselves. He hoped that wasn't a mistake.

The not-quite-warthogs smelled worse than they looked. John swallowed thickly as he swung up, nodding his thanks to Miltre when he handed over the reins. Once they were mounted, Colla made a series of clicks and whistles. The animals shuffled into a line and headed up a semi-steep path.

Ronon sidled next to John. "Thought we were here for them to evaluate us as the Coalition's military."

John glanced back, deciding Miltre was too far behind them to overhear. "That's what I thought, too, but I guess somebody got their wires crossed."

"How long's this going to take?"

"Why? You got a hot date?" John's brows shot up at Ronon's flat stare. "Are you blushing?"

"Shut up," Ronon growled, the flush creeping up his neck to his ears.

John snickered as Ronon urged his mount forward until he was even with Teyla. She rode like she'd been born to it while Rodney tried his best to not touch anything and Ronon's feet scraped the ground. After a few minutes of steady climbing, the path evened to a wide landing. Several older boys scampered from a small enclosure, held the reins while the group dismounted, then led the animals back down.

"Your city is very impressive," Teyla said. "How were your people able to carve such magnificent structures?"

Colla beamed with pride. "Our stone cutters and artisans are truly gifted." She approached a colonnaded portico that sheltered massive doors. "Our Hall of Remembrance," she announced before entering.

Torches lined the high-ceilinged foyer. Recessed lighting flickered to life, and warm air brushed over John's skin as he pushed the parka's hood from his face. Various sculptures and portraits decorated the hallway that branched in several different directions.

Colla stopped in the center and addressed them. "Legend tells that the Ancestors once inhabited this world. Our archaeologists have uncovered numerous artifacts believed to have belonged to them. Several devices have held data which our linguists have transcribed. This information seems to be random, but we have done our best to adapt our lives to it. Our laws and moral code are based on it along with some of our tools and skills."

"Including stone carving," John guessed.

"Yes," Colla confirmed. "The data devices contained detailed schematics for this city. We built the necessary mechanisms and did our best to construct the structures according to the Ancestors specifications. We hope they are pleased with our efforts."

Rodney's eyes rounded in dismay. "You aren't expecting them to drop by for an inspection, are you?"

Colla smiled wistfully. "No. One device held information on their ascension experiments. While no one has been able to decipher exactly what that entails, we understand that they have left this life."

"Why the um…animals?" John asked. "You seem to have a good grasp of technology. Isn't there a more efficient way of getting up here?"

Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Yes, but not one nearly as entertaining."

"Oh, of course," McKay muttered. "No telling what diseases I've been exposed to just so the locals can have a laugh."

"Rodney," Teyla warned.

Colla laughed. "I assure you, Doctor, our animals are well taken care of. Now, if you'll come this way, I'll show you some of our more prized possessions."

She led them through rooms filled with increasing levels of technology – a testament to the growing understanding of the information left by the Ancients. Printing presses, texts, communication equipment, light bulbs, looms, chisels, steam engines. Ancient devices were interspersed throughout the collection. Some were familiar to John – life signs detectors, medical scanner, a blender – but some he'd never seen before. McKay was practically salivating as they passed into an area that held their more recent discoveries.

"Do you know what all of these do?" Rodney asked.

"Not all," Colla admitted. "Some won't work no matter what we do."

John walked the perimeter of the room, one eye on the entrances and the other on the guards who had been following them discretely. His spine tingled softly as it always did in the presence of Ancient technology. He barely noticed it anymore. But he jerked when his skin pricked and his mind buzzed. Whirling, he spotted McKay, eyes scrunched in concentration and fingertips lightly resting on a glowing baseball-sized sphere.

"What are you doing?" John hissed, glancing back. Miltre and Colla were across the room, deep in conversation with Teyla and seemingly oblivious to Rodney's actions.

McKay yanked his hand away. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Something that doesn't belong to you."

"Technicalities." Rodney waved in dismissal. "Unless I'm wrong – and, seriously, when does that ever happen - it's a prototype of a vacuum energy power source."

John let that process, exchanging glances with Ronon who wandered over. Every time they'd toyed with vacuum energy, something had been nearly or completely destroyed. "Isn't that what killed the Dorandans?" he interrupted.

"Yes, but-"

"And almost ripped Rod's universe apart?"

"Well-"

"And damn near obliterated Earth when you were there a few weeks ago."

"I didn't do that!"

John rolled his eyes. "I didn't say you did. I'm just saying we haven't had the best of luck dealing with this kind of thing."

"That's why we need to study it."

"It's not ours, Rodney."

"Well, then include it in the negotiations."

"What negotiations?" Ronon asked. "We're supposed to be telling them why they should join the Coalition."

"Oh, right." McKay's shoulders sagged. "I really need to examine it. Maybe they won't notice if-"

John slapped his hand away. "Don't even think about it. Let's do what we came here to do. Then we'll work on some kind of exchange."

"Fine," Rodney grumped.

Colla smiled genially as they approached. "It is time for our midday meal. We would be honored if you would join us."

"Midday?" Teyla queried.

"Our days are very short during the winter months. The sun will set soon."

"I could eat," Ronon said.

"There's a newsflash," Rodney mumbled.

Ronon's eyes narrowed. "Don't remember you missing a meal lately."

A glare from Teyla silenced them as they followed Colla to a large room across the hall. A long table that could seat at least two dozen was laden with steaming platters and serving bowls. Several other men and women were already seated. Colla introduced them as the rest of the Council and invited John and his team to sit.

After everyone had been served, Miltre turned to Teyla. "Tell us of the Coalition."

John forced himself to appear interested as Teyla gave a brief overview of Pegasus' new political situation. He still wasn't sure how he'd been dragged into this. He hated politics. Admittedly, Woolsey had been saving their asses when he'd bribed that judge by committing Atlantis to its role of military might in the Coalition. Damn kangaroo court. John had agreed that Atlantis had a duty to make a difference, but protecting the city had already been a full time job, and now he was suddenly responsible for the lives on twenty-seven different planets. Twenty-eight if they were successful today. He and Lorne had spent hours arranging training schedules, creating small militias on each world. Jumpers were patrolling the systems with the densest populations, and last week they'd received a request to provide security for some type of interplanetary athletic competition.

"…expect, John?"

He blinked at Colla. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat the question?"

"I asked what kind of military presence we can expect."

"We're not going to be taking over your world, if that's what you mean. We will come when you ask for us or if we determine you are in danger. We want to protect you, not run your lives."

"You do not intend on establishing a base here?"

"Of course not. We can send some soldiers to help train your people if you want, but that would be temporary."

"I see." Colla's gaze shifted to her colleagues then she nodded and stood. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. You have been most helpful. We will consider what you have told us and send our answer in a few days."

Teyla rose. "It has been our honor to meet you. Perhaps we can return on another day with some of our scientists to study the Ancestral artifacts."

Colla gave an odd little smile. "Perhaps."

She escorted them to the entryway and bid them farewell. Miltre hurried through their midst, apologizing as he bumped first into Teyla then Rodney in his haste. He spoke quietly to the boys who disappeared into the first shadows of dusk. Almost immediately, they returned with the warthog burros. A bumpy ride down left them at the base of the butte as nightfall and frigid temperatures returned.

"Okay, kids," John said. "Let's go home."

Teyla fell in step beside him as they headed toward the gate. "What was your sense of them?"

"They seem nice enough." John shrugged. "I didn't expect you to have to explain the merits of being in the Coalition. It does have merits, right?"

She chuckled then turned serious. "For many worlds, the Coalition represents hope, something they have never had. A hope of living in peace, without the threat of the Wraith."

"That's a lot to ask of a fledgling government."

"Yes, it is. Which is why Atlantis' participation is necessary. The optimism and strength your people possess is…like a shot of adrenaline to a galaxy that has known nothing but fear and oppression for millennia. You have proven that the Wraith can be defeated. Few here ever thought that possible. They can govern themselves – they can survive and even flourish in some cases – but they need some guidance in how to fight effectively."

"Well, I'm all for that. But you'd think…" John trailed off as a low hum filled his ears. A transport, metallic and boxy, rolled to a stop near them, and Colla emerged. "That's definitely cooler than those pack animals."

Colla strode quickly to him. "We welcomed you into our town. Why have you treated us this way?"

He traded bewildered looks with his team. "What are you talking about?"

Her lips pressed together in a fine line. "You deny you have stolen one of our artifacts?"

Alarm spiked as several heavily armed guards spilled from the transport and surrounded them. "Of course I deny it. We haven't taken anything."

"Then you won't mind if we search your belongings."

It wasn't really a question, and he knew it. But he also knew his team.

"Search away. We have nothing to hide. You can start with me."

John stood patiently while one of the guards searched each pocket of his tac vest and parka then patted him down. Colla did the same with Teyla. Ronon stared malevolently but submitted to the search. Rodney squawked and berated as the guards rummaged through his pack and his pockets.

"Lady Colla," one guard called. "We've found it."

McKay blanched as the silver sphere was pulled from his parka pocket. "But I didn't-"

"Silence!" Colla turned angry eyes to John. "You will return with us. The Council must discuss this."

John's gaze swept over the group, calculating the odds of survival. His team had superior fire power, but the locals outnumbered them. The chances of them escaping unscathed were microscopic. He nodded to his team and surrendered his P-90 and .45, conveniently forgetting to mention his knife and the handgun strapped to his ankle. Quicker than he'd imagined possible, they were loaded in the transport then herded through the city and locked in a cell of stone.

"Sheppard, I swear I didn't take that device."

He met Rodney's eyes. The man was too smart and too loyal to risk the wrath of a society that showed advanced technological abilities – maybe not on the level of Atlantis, but more than most worlds they'd visited. But McKay's drive to understand vacuum energy bordered on obsessive sometimes. Was it possible…

No. It wasn't possible. Rodney wouldn't endanger them like that.

He'd waited a beat too long to respond though. McKay's jaw tightened, and hurt radiated from every pore.

"I know you didn't, Rodney. We'll figure out what happened. I'm sure it's just a big misunderstanding."

The door swung open, and Colla entered. "We are saddened by this blatant disregard for our laws. While we understand that you are strangers here, we cannot allow this act to go unpunished lest other worlds hear of it and attempt similar crimes. However, we punish only the guilty. The rest of you will be released."

"What is the punishment?" Teyla asked.

"Typically, the sentence for stealing is three days in the stocks."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Rodney muttered.

"The stocks are open to the elements in the village center."

"That's a death sentence in this cold," Ronon growled.

"Yes," Colla replied. "It would be. The alternative is twenty lashes."

"Oh, God," Rodney whispered. "I think I'd rather freeze."

"No one's going to freeze or anything else," John stated. "What about a trial, an appeal, something?"

Colla arched a brow at him. "He was carrying the device. There can only be one conclusion. There are no appeals."

"What kind of justice is that?"

"Our kind, John. Someone must be punished for this crime. And it is a high crime. To take something that belonged to the Ancestors for your own use… Nothing is more reprehensible." She took a deep breath and met his gaze. "We will return to carry out the sentence when the sun rises in a few hours."

The thud of the door closing echoed in the room. Rodney huddled in a corner, head in hands. Teyla stared thoughtfully after Colla while Ronon paced angrily. John pinched the bridge of his nose as his mind raced.

"What are you thinking?" Teyla asked.

"I'm thinking there's no way in hell I'm letting this happen." John dug through his pockets, hoping something would spark an idea. "There has to be a way out of this."

"I am so screwed," Rodney muttered.

"Relax, McKay. I'll think of something."

Rodney's breathing quickened. "I can't stand a paper cut. Twenty lashes? How am I supposed to survive that?" He turned panicked eyes to John. "Don't tell Jeannie what happened, okay? Make sure Jennifer…no, not Jennifer. Anybody but Jennifer. Biro, have Biro stitch me up so no one can tell. Oh, and tell Carson-"

"Shut up, Rodney. Nothing is going to happen to you."

"Are you going to wave your magic wand and make this go away? We can't contact Atlantis. We aren't overdue. They won't look for us until it's too late. We don't have any real weapons. I don't have a clue where we are in the city, and we'd have to walk out of here unless you know where they are keeping those Volvo-wannabes. I am going to _die_."

"No, you aren't." Ronon wheeled to look at John. "I'll do it."

"Do what?" John asked.

"Take his place."

John stared at him as Teyla gasped and McKay spluttered. "What?"

Ronon took a step forward, his gaze earnest. "She said someone had to be punished. I'll take his place."

"I can't let you do that," John said.

"You planning on doing it yourself?"

"If I have to."

"Have you both lost your minds?" Rodney snapped. "You're _volunteering_ to get flogged?"

Ronon crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to let you do it, Sheppard."

"Well, I'm not planning on letting anyone do it. We'll find a way out."

"At what cost, John?" Teyla asked. "Rodney is correct. We are deep in the city with little chance of escaping undetected. We could fight our way out, but the likelihood of injuries is very high, and if one of Colla's people is killed, the punishment will be worse. Do not forget that we represent the Coalition now. We are not above the law. If we are to retain the trust of the people of this galaxy, we must abide by their rules."

John kicked at the floor in frustration. "So we should just let them beat Rodney?"

"I did not say that. We-"

"I stand the best chance of surviving either punishment," Ronon announced. "And I'm the most expendable."

Blood, hot and angry, roared in John's ears. "Don't you ever say that again."

"It's the truth."

"No one is expendable," John ground out between clenched teeth.

Ronon's lips quirked in a smile. "Maybe to you. But Teyla's people and her son need her. Atlantis needs you and Rodney. I ran from the Wraith for seven years. I think I can stand a few lashes."

McKay looked as stunned as John felt. How the hell had this happened? This was supposed to be a cake walk – shake a few hands, kiss a baby, promise to defend these people from the Wraith. When had deciding who was expendable come into the picture?

"No," he found himself saying. "I'm not letting you do it."

"And I'm not letting you," Ronon replied.

"Well, I'm not letting either of you." Rodney rubbed angrily at his temples. "I'm a genius, dammit. Maybe we can work something out. I can help them with the devices. Maybe if I agree to stay here for some limited amount of time, they'll back off the painful punishment. I'll suffer anyway, of course. My back and my allergies. You know how fond I am of small spaces. Oh, and no telling what's in the food. Still, it's better than bodily harm, don't you think?"

John turned away, his vision whiting. He hated feeling trapped, which was exactly what they were. He wasn't leaving Rodney behind, but he wasn't going to let Colla hurt him or anyone else either. And Ronon – God, how could Ronon think he wasn't important? This damn Coalition had been more trouble than it was worth so far, at least as far as John was concerned. He understood intellectually what a big step Pegasus had taken in forming a Coalition, but he wasn't about to put politics ahead of the well-being of his family, and he didn't care how small that made him sound.

Teyla's quiet presence registered when she squeezed his arm gently. "John?"

"I know this Coalition is important, Teyla, but I'm not going to let them hurt Rodney or Ronon. Do you understand the damage that twenty lashes can do?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Many worlds employ that kind of punishment. If they live, the scarring could be…hideous."

"How can these people do something like that?" he hissed. "They seem more civilized than most places we've visited."

She sighed and pressed her back to the wall, facing him. "Sometimes it is not easy to abandon the old ways especially if new ones are appearing rapidly. Colla told me they had little crime here. Laws are strict and punishment is severe."

"I'm not sure I'd want a world that valued punishment over justice in the Coalition."

"That is not your decision to make."

"I know." He looked at her helplessly. "Got any good ideas?"

"Actually, I do. I'm not sure that you will like it."

"Let's hear it."

Teyla drew him to the center of the room where Rodney and Ronon were sitting. She folded her legs underneath her and waited expectantly until he dropped down next to them. "Colla said the punishment was twenty lashes. There are four of us."

"Not a chance," John said.

"Listen to me," she implored. "There is no perfect solution. At least if we each took a part of the punishment, we would live."

Rodney's face was a mask of horror. "No. You can't-"

She arched a brow at him. "I can't? Why? Because I am female?"

"Yes! No! I-" McKay turned to John. "Say something."

John was still reeling from the idea. Teyla was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, but his Earth born-and-bred brain shied away from the thought of her being whipped. His head told him her words made sense, but every fiber in his being argued against it.

"I am an equal member of this team," she announced. "And it could not be more painful than giving birth on a Wraith ship."

Well, she had him there. Five lashes each. Could he stand there and watch his team go through that?

"She's right," Ronon said.

"I know," John answered. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Are you seriously considering this?" Rodney asked.

John nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

"This is insane."

John nodded again. He prayed these people rejected the Coalition's invitation because God help them if he ever had to defend them against the Wraith.

The next few hours passed in jittery silence. Ronon sprawled against the wall, a boot thumping rhythmically against the floor. McKay squirmed. Teyla drew swirls in the dust. John stared blindly at the far wall, still trying to come up with a better solution and failing. By the time the door opened, they were pressed shoulder to shoulder in a small huddle.

Colla gazed at them dispassionately. "The sun has risen. Are you prepared?"

John inhaled deeply and blew it out as he stood. "You said twenty lashes."

"That is correct."

"Does it matter who receives them?"

She cocked her head in confusion. "We do not punish the innocent."

"We are a team. What happens to one of us happens to all."

"I see. You are volunteering to take his place?"

"Yes-"

"We all are," Teyla said. "There are four of us. Divide the punishment equally."

Colla's brows shot up. "That is an unusual request."

"Do your laws prevent it?"

"No." A small smile ghosted over her lips then vanished. "Very well. Five lashes each." She nodded to the guards who surrounded the team and escorted them out.

They wound through a series of corridors, emerging in a large amphitheater. The council was seated, but the rest of the chairs were empty. A block of wood with leather straps on the sides sat in the middle of the stage area.

Colla stood on the dais and faced them. "Doctor Rodney McKay, you have been judged guilty of stealing. Your punishment, which your team has asked to share, is twenty lashes. Are you ready to begin?"

McKay nodded miserably, his eyes downcast.

"We will start with Ronon Dex," Colla announced.

John clenched his fists at his side, his chest heaving as Ronon followed the guard to the wooden block. His shirt was removed and he was pushed to his knees. The guard bound his hands to the sides of the block and pushed his dreads away to reveal the unmarred skin of his back.

"Wait!" Rodney shouted.

"McKay, what are you doing?" John hissed.

"I can't do this, John." McKay's face was bone white, and terror bled from his eyes, but he swallowed thickly and stepped forward. "Please, don't hurt him."

"Rodney," Teyla warned. "Do not do this."

"I took the scars off his back. I'm not going to put them back on."

Colla held up a hand. "Do you wish to address the Council?"

"Yes." McKay's breath came in small hiccups. "I did it. I stole the device. I deserve the punishment not them."

"You admit your guilt freely?"

"I do. Please. Let them go."

At her gesture, Ronon was released. He stood, shirt in hand, his expression a mixture of admiration and anger. "McKay…"

"I, uh…" Rodney's entire body shook as he walked past Ronon toward the block. "Just get it over with."

"That will not be necessary," Colla said.

"What?"

"We do not give our trust easily."

John's mind was spinning as Ronon dragged McKay toward them and placed his body firmly between him and the guards.

"You were testing us," Teyla surmised.

"Yes. Miltre placed the sphere in Doctor McKay's pocket to see how you would respond. We needed to know we were placing the safety of our people in worthy hands."

Relief was quickly giving way to rage. "And what did you decide?" John snapped.

"Your loyalty is admirable. You would have been excellent defenders."

"'Would have been'?" John bit out.

Colla's eyes flicked to Rodney. "When pressured, you collapsed too quickly. I'm sorry."

John closed his eyes. All of that. For nothing.

xxx

"Thought I might find you here," John said, plopping down on the pier's edge.

McKay snorted softly. "Incredible deduction skills you have there."

"Hey, I could've been Mensa, you know."

"So you say." The beer can clattered and rolled as Rodney tossed it behind him and popped the top on another.

John eyed the collection of empty cans but didn't comment, choosing to snag one for himself. "Woolsey just got back."

Rodney stared at the horizon, his expression hard. "And?"

He shook his head. "They haven't changed their minds."

Emotion flickered over Rodney's face. He chugged his beer then smashed the can angrily between his palms. Pushing to his feet, he hurled the flattened aluminum toward the city wall and kicked at the empty cans by his feet.

John frowned at him. "You can't seriously care whether or not they join the Coalition."

"I couldn't give a rat's ass what those morons do. What I care about is that the mission failed because of me. She was right. I- I caved under the pressure."

"Rodney-"

"What if next time it's in the middle of a hive ship? What if I give up the location of Atlantis to our enemies? What if-"

"McKay," John grabbed Rodney's arm and swung him around, "shut up for a minute and listen." He'd never seen the man look so uncertain. "She was wrong, dead wrong. You didn't cave. You put someone else's life before your own." He squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "I don't know what she calls it, but I call it bravery."

Rodney flushed at the praise, his shy grin quickly hidden. "You aren't going to get mushy, are you?"

John rolled his eyes and shoved McKay gently. "Hardly. You done moping yet?"

"I don't mope."

"Really?" he drawled.

McKay sniffed disdainfully. "Yes, really." He stooped to pick up the cans then glanced up. "Well, don't just stand there. Help me clean this mess up."

John grinned and picked up a can. A full one. He shook it, aimed, and popped the top. Beer and foam erupted, hitting McKay squarely in the face. Rodney's eyes went wide in shock then narrowed. A calculating smile blossomed as he grabbed a can, shook it, and stabbed it with a pen. A thin stream shot out, carving a path through John's hair.

"Oh, you did not."

McKay waggled his brows and gulped down the rest of the beer. He stared daggers at John as he reached for another can. "Just remember I can make your ice cream melt."

John hesitated. He'd just restocked his mini-fridge with pints of Cookies-n-Cream. Aw, the hell with it. There was always more ice cream.

* * *

_Written for the Farewell to Stargate Atlantis ficathon on shepsatlantis for tazmy who wanted friendship, bittersweet, and conflict. As always, many thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	17. Skin

_No spoilers here._

**Skin**

John blew out a shaky breath and stepped through the infirmary doors. Monitors chirped rhythmically, and antiseptic attempted to disguise the scent of illness. Ronon stood beside the drawn privacy curtain, staring blankly at his reflection in the darkened screen of an Ancient scanner.

"How is she?" John asked.

Ronon didn't turn. "Same."

"Dammit. What did Keller say?"

"That the medicine's working. That Teyla should feel better soon."

John frowned at the flat monotone. "You don't believe her?"

One shoulder lifted. "See for yourself."

Steeling himself, John pulled aside the curtain and felt his heart stop. Teyla, jaundiced and frail, was sitting up, eyes closed, humming softly. Her hair…

He blinked rapidly and put on his best grin. "Hey, Teyla."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she ran a self-conscious hand over her head. "I asked Jennifer to cut the rest off. It was falling out."

"You look great."

"And you lie worse than Rodney." She gave him a wobbly smile. "It's only hair. It will grow again."

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Weak. I no longer have the strength to hold Torren." The words sounded matter-of-fact, but her eyes told a different story.

"It's temporary, you know."

Teyla gave a small nod. "I know. I have spent many hours tending those with Balen's Syndrome." She sighed heavily. "The cure is almost as unpleasant as the disease."

John forced away childhood memories of his aunt, a hospital, cancer. "At least it's a permanent cure."

"I cannot imagine what it would be like to have a disease such as this return." Her face contorted, and she hunched forward. "John…"

He held her as she retched then he wiped her face with a damp cloth and stroked her hand until she fell asleep. Stumbling out, he clenched his fists and choked back a howl of frustration. Ronon was still standing in the same place, his entire body quivering.

"You're sure she's going to beat this?" John bit out.

"No."

"Ronon-"

"I don't know!" Ronon slammed his hands on the diagnostic bed. "I've never been through-" His shoulders sagged as he turned to face John. "Melena tended the sick. She always said heavy doses of _folred_ cured Balen's but that it made the patients very sick. I didn't know... I didn't realize..."

John scrubbed the back of his neck. "Can we do anything to help her?"

Ronon's chin lifted. He spun to gaze at his reflection again then pulled a knife and hacked off a dreadlock.

"What are you doing?"

Another lock fell. "Don't want her to feel alone."

An emergency called John away before he could wrap his mind around Ronon's words. An hour later, he found himself in his quarters, staring at his own reflection. The stench of antiseptic suffocated him, clinging to his clothes, his skin, his hair…

_I'd do anything for any one of you._

John raked his fingers through the dark spikes. "It's only hair," he repeated. "It will grow again." Biting his lip, he grabbed the scissors and began cutting.

When he finished, he toweled off the last wisps of shaving cream and grinned at the bald man in the mirror. He couldn't heal Teyla's body, but maybe he could lift her spirits. Head held high, he strode out of his room, ignoring the stunned expressions around him, and made his way to the infirmary.

A hairless Ronon was leaning against the wall outside the drawn curtain, a smile splitting his face. "Nice."

John shrugged. "It's only hair." He glanced at the curtain. "What's up?"

"Keller just left."

The doors opened, and a ball-capped McKay entered, his jaw dropping when he spotted them. Then he pulled off his cap and rubbed a hand over the stubble. "Electric razor."

John smiled warmly. "Looks good, Rodney."

"I'm ready," Teyla called. "You may enter."

Ronon pushed aside the curtain, and they crowded in. Tears filled Teyla's eyes and spilled down her cheeks as her gaze darted from one teammate to the next. She clutched Ronon's arm and pulled him down, smoothing a trembling hand over his head. "What have you done?"

"It's going to grow back, right?" McKay whispered.

As Teyla's laughter filled the room, John answered honestly, "It doesn't matter."

* * *

_A/N: I was involved in a writing challenge on LJ, and this was one of my submissions. It came in first for its round. It was written to very specific prompts: team fic that shows friendship and support, limited to 700 words. I came in second place overall in case you were curious._

_Hope you all are well. I have another story to post in the next couple of days and two more that were written for an anonymous ficathon that I'll post after the authors are announced. My current story should be ready for posting in a week or so. Enjoy!_


	18. What's Done is Done

_Spoilers for Sunday, This Mortal Coil, The Kindred, and vague ones for Whispers and Outsiders_

**What's Done is Done**

Carson strolled into the infirmary office area and flopped into a hard-backed chair with a groan. "My favorite mug is missing," he announced. "Again."

"Did you check the research lab?" Jennifer asked absently, frowning at her laptop. "You've practically lived there since you arrived."

"Don't remind me." He set his computer tablet on the corner of her desk and scrubbed both hands over his face. "I know more about genetic mutations associated with long term exposure to heavy ion radiation now than I ever wanted."

"Can you help them?"

Carson shook his head sadly. "The damage is too extensive."

"Is this what you're looking for, Doctor?" Marie, the head medical technician, materialized with a steaming 'Blow It Out Your Bagpipes' cup.

"You are a lifesaver," he pronounced before taking a huge gulp of the hot liquid. Gasping as it hit his throat, he blinked away tears. "Athosian tea? You could have warned me first."

She giggled and winked conspiratorially at Jennifer. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were a serious tea drinker. My mistake."

"Feeling cheeky today I see." He shifted the mug to his other hand and grabbed his tablet, making a great show of studying it. "I'm headed to Skeltib in a few days. I take it you've decided you don't want anymore _nacaema_?"

Jennifer straightened quickly. "She apologizes. Profusely. Don't you, Marie?"

"Absolutely. I'll never question your tea-drinking abilities again."

"That's better," he replied with a grin. "It is rather tasty, isn't it? Like fudge."

"But better," Marie added.

Jennifer sighed happily. "And not fattening."

"I've finally convinced Doctor Parrish that Botany needs one of the plants," Marie said. "Now, if only Lieutenant Devereaux can decipher the recipe."

Carson chuckled as he headed out, leaving them to their scheming. He meandered through the hallways, nodding to passing crewmembers as he took the long way to his favorite balcony. His new line of work suited him. He was making a real difference now – curing diseases, healing the infirm, researching and documenting illnesses that could lead to vaccines and long life for those all over the galaxy. Not that he hadn't done important work before.

Well, technically, he hadn't. The other Carson, the real one, had. The only thing he had actually done was help Michael create hybrids and spread the Hoffan plague.

He pulled a chair to the railing and slumped in it, tilting his face to the sun and letting the crisp morning breeze whisk the ghosts away. What's done is done, or so Ronon said. The big man was right in one respect – Carson couldn't spend the rest of his life wallowing in guilt. But he could spend it helping others, so once the SGC had declared him fit, he'd made the long trek back to Pegasus.

Atlantis wasn't the way he remembered it, though, the way he'd dreamed of it for two years of captivity. So many had died, including Elizabeth, and others had returned to Earth. He had never met at least half of the current expedition members, and many of the ones he did know looked at him with a blend of grief and curiosity – a never ending reminder that though he might have the memories and physical attributes of Carson Beckett, he wasn't really him.

Not everyone reacted that way, of course. Rodney didn't. Neither did John or Teyla. Ronon had taken a while to come around, but now he stared down anyone who looked at Carson the wrong way. Jennifer and the medical staff had been delightful, treating him as if he'd always been there. But it wasn't his department anymore. In fact, it never actually had been.

The memory of the original Carson Beckett hung heavy around the city, and he'd decided quickly that living life as a replica was not what he wanted. Mr. Woolsey had agreed to his suggestion of going to the peoples of Pegasus. After all, he could do more out there to help the plague survivors than he ever could in a lab; plus those people might look a little more favorably on Atlantis because of his efforts – an added bonus according to Woolsey.

Carson cautiously sipped his tea as he watched the clouds chase each other across the cerulean sky. He'd spent almost every waking moment of the past ten days in that lab, and he needed some real time off. It looked to be a fine day, and a check of the mission roster showed that the only person who needed a break more than he did was not scheduled to go off-world today. He stood, stretched, and headed inside.

A transport later, he waltzed into Rodney's lab.

"Good morning, Rodney."

Rodney didn't bother to look up from his computer screen. "What the hell's so good about it?"

"Oh, come on. It's a beautiful day out. The sun is shining, a cool breeze is blowing, and you have the day off."

Rodney's jaw dropped. "The day off? Does it look like I'm sitting here playing tiddlywinks?"

"Well-"

"Never mind." Rodney pressed his palms to his eyes and yawned dramatically. "What time is it?"

"Have you been here all night again?"

Rodney glared sullenly as he raked hands through his hair. "What does it look like?"

"Well, seeing as how you're wrinkled, scruffy, and in need of a shower-"

"Hey!"

"-I'd say yes." Carson tugged on Rodney's arm until he stumbled from the workstool. "Now, Doctor McKay, you are to get something to eat, go to your room, take a shower and a nap, then we are going to enjoy some fresh air this afternoon. I was thinking of fishing. How does that sound?"

Rodney's face drained of color and his eyes went wide. He stared slack-jawed at Carson for a minute before giving a jerky nod. "Sure."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rodney mumbled, refusing to meet Carson's eyes. "Fishing would be great. I'll tell Radek…"

"You are a terrible liar, Rodney. Tell me what's wrong."

Rodney blinked then swallowed thickly and said, "I- uh, I- I'm scared of whales."

"Whales? I thought this planet didn't have any."

"Hey," Rodney shrugged, "I didn't say it was logical."

Carson studied Rodney. His left eye twitched, and his breathing was loud and uneven. Still lying. "Rodney."

"What?" Rodney flushed scarlet, and his voice trembled. "I said I'd go. What time?"

Their gazes locked. Carson's brow knitted as he stared, but Rodney's chin lifted and he glared defiantly in return, refusing to admit whatever it was that was bothering him. For now, anyway. Deciding to wheedle it out of him later, Carson checked his watch. "I'll drop by your quarters at 1700. That would give you several hours to eat and rest. How does that sound?"

"Fine. I'll see you then."

Rodney ducked into the transporter and was gone before Carson could follow. He heaved a sigh and made his way back to the infirmary research lab where he busied himself with database queries for clues on curing the Hoffan plague. When his stomach growled loudly a few hours later, he rubbed his eyes and stood, pressing a hand to his lower back as his spine crackled. He took the fast route to the mess hall and loaded up a tray. Life in Pegasus was good, but the new chef in Atlantis was better. Spotting John and Ronon across the room, he dodged chairs and Marines to reach them.

"Hey, Carson," John greeted with a smile. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Carson scooted close and dug in, sighing contentedly as his taste buds danced with joy. He loved lasagna "What are you gentlemen up to today?"

Ronon bit into the biggest club sandwich Carson had ever seen. "Orientation."

"Ah, some new recruits?"

John rolled his eyes. "Scientists."

Carson winced in sympathy. "Don't hurt them too badly, lad. I don't think Jennifer has received the new supply of bandages yet."

"Don't worry, Doc." Ronon snatched a cookie from John's tray. "I stopped using volunteers." He leaned out of range as John swiped at him then stuffed the entire cookie in his mouth and chomped noisily.

"That's because they weren't volunteers. You were choosing them out of the crowd." John liberated a few fries from Ronon's plate and turned to Carson. "The last time he tried it, the guy fainted before Ronon touched him."

"So, who do you use now?"

Ronon grinned and punched John's shoulder lightly. "Sheppard."

"Oh, dear Lord." Carson munched on a corner of his garlic bread. "Doesn't make for much of a day off, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," John agreed, pinning Ronon with a stare. "No more body slams. This is civilian orientation, not the WWE."

"Not my fault if you're an easy target," Ronon jabbed.

"Keep it up, Chewie, and you'll be on scientist babysitting duty for a week."

"Where's Teyla today?" Carson interjected

"New Athos. Some trade thing," Ronon replied, a smirk twitching on his lips.

"I think Rodney's in his lab," John offered. "He and Zelenka are running diagnostics on something. I probably need to drag him down here before he puts himself in a coma."

"I sent him to his quarters. Bloody fool's been in his lab all night. I told him to eat and get some sleep."

"Good. What are you doing this afternoon, Doc?" John asked as he swirled peas through his mashed potatoes.

"Once he's rested, Rodney and I are going fishing."

John's fork clattered to the table, and Ronon choked on his sandwich. Both men paled as they exchanged glances.

"What is it?" Carson demanded.

"Um…" John's eyes flicked to Ronon again before settling on Carson. "Was that your idea?"

"Yes, why?"

"What did McKay say?" Ronon asked quietly.

"Well, after he made some excuse about being afraid of whales, he agreed." Carson pushed his irritation down and leaned forward. "Tell me why you are reacting like this. What is the significance of fishing?"

John looked helplessly at Ronon again. "Doc…"

"Spit it out, son."

"That's what you…the other you and Rodney were supposed to do the day he died," Ronon answered. "McKay didn't go fishing-"

"And so they were here when the explosion happened." Carson massaged the bridge of his nose as the headache behind his eyes started to pound. "Oh, Rodney. It wasn't your fault." He glanced at John. "Why didn't someone tell me?"

John's eyes grew sad. "No one likes to talk about that day, Carson. And to be honest, it really didn't occur to me, to any of us, to bring up the circumstances."

"He blames himself, doesn't he?"

"Yeah." Ronon pushed his tray away. "He's not the only one."

"What does that mean?"

"None of us went fishing that day." John shifted uncomfortably, his eyes distant. "When Rodney backed out, you- _he_ asked several of us – me, Ronon, Zelenka…"

"Lorne," Ronon supplied.

"And probably a few more. But we'd already made plans. We-"

"It wasn't your fault. None of you," Carson said forcefully. "I can promise you he didn't blame a single one of you for what happened. From what I've read, he died saving someone else. And I can tell you for certain that's exactly the way he preferred it." He held their gazes until they nodded and some of the tension seeped from their shoulders. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a fishing trip to arrange."

"Doc," Ronon called as Carson turned to go, "tell McKay that."

"I will."

John met and held his gaze. "It's good to have you here, _Carson_."

He smiled in gratitude at the intentional emphasis. "Thank you. It's good to be here. I'll…"

John sat up straight and reached for his comm. "This is Sheppard." His jaw tightened and his lips pressed to a thin line as he stood. "I'll be right there."

Ronon stood as well. "What's wrong?"

"Lab accident." John glanced at Carson. "McKay's involved. They're headed to the infirmary."

Carson had to jog to keep up with John and Ronon as they strode toward the transporter, faces drawn and spines stiff. Many things had changed in Atlantis during his time with Michael, not the least of which was the relationship these men had with Rodney. And Rodney with them. They were more relaxed around each other and yet more vigilant. The teasing was gentler, the laughter more genuine. The bonds of friendship he remembered had become steel cords of family. He hated to think how much pain, death, and near-death had been involved in that transition.

When they stepped out of the transporter, Rodney's voice echoed loudly in the hallway. "-hear any more excuses! You know to check every vial, tube, and beaker before beginning anything. Were the words too big? Did you buy your degree at an estate sale?"

Ronon's stride shortened dramatically as John's shoulders relaxed and Carson grinned. Rodney sounded more irritated than anything, though his voice was laced with pain. When they entered, they found the minor injury area filled with scurrying nurses, an exasperated Jennifer Keller, a dark-haired man in science uniform, and Rodney – red-faced and sweating with his left arm cradled close to his chest.

"Rodney, hold still," Jennifer said, "I haven't finished washing the acid off yet."

"Fine, fine." Rodney grimaced as he stretched his arm out. Huge red blisters decorated it from his elbow to the back of his hand. "Ow!"

"Then be still." Jennifer held his arm lightly over a basin and pour copious amounts of water over it.

Rodney glared at the young scientist. "You, go clean up the mess you made in the lab." He clicked his comm. "Radek, meet- What's your name?"

"Chavez," the man said meekly.

"Meet Chavez in Chem Lab Twenty-seven. He has concentrated sulfuric acid to clean up, and he obviously is incapable of working without supervision. Yes, now." Rodney looked at Chavez. "Why are you still here?"

Blushing a deep crimson, the young man scurried away. John and Ronon exchanged an amused glance as they ambled up to the bed Rodney was perched on.

"You okay?" John asked.

"No, I'm not okay. That moron…" Rodney's eyes went wide when he spotted Carson. "I'm fine. Good as new."

"Rodney," Carson admonished, "those are second degree chemical burns on your arm. You are not fine."

"I am so. We had plans for the afternoon, and I'm not missing them."

Carson gaped at him. "Are you daft? We can go fishing another day."

"No, we can't," Rodney insisted, his voice strained. "We're going today."

Jennifer stilled for a moment then said, "I need to get a few things. I'll be right back."

When she stepped away, Rodney pulled the IV from his good arm and swung his legs off the bed.

John grabbed his shoulder. "Whoa. Hang on a minute."

"Where do you think you're going?" Carson asked.

Rodney's face was white. "Fishing," he stated quietly.

"You can't go, Rodney," Carson said. "You need to keep this arm dry. You aren't going anywhere near the water."

"Please," Rodney whispered.

John and Ronon shuffled uncomfortably as Carson shook his head. "No."

Rodney's eyes darted around in panic before settling on John. "Sheppard, will you go with him instead?"

"I-"

"We can do something else," Carson interrupted. "It doesn't have to be fishing."

"Yes, it does." Rodney's voice wavered as his breath hitched slightly. "Please, John, _please_ take him."

"Of course, I will," John said. "We'll go right now. Just-"

"John, would you and Ronon give us a moment?" Carson asked.

John hesitated, looking from Carson to Rodney and back. "Sure, Doc," he finally said then patted Rodney's shoulder. "We'll be back later, buddy."

"No, wait!" Chest heaving, Rodney called after them until the doors closed then he turned pleading eyes to Carson. "You have to go. If you won't go fishing, go visit the Athosians or something. Just don't stay in the city. Please."

Carson washed his hands then accepted the ointment and bandages from Jennifer, and pulled the privacy curtain. "Let me see your arm."

"But-"

"Now, Rodney."

Rodney flopped back on the bed and stuck out his injured arm.

"Your other arm."

When Rodney offered that arm, Carson reinserted the IV then took a seat. He examined Rodney's burns carefully until he was satisfied that the damage was not extensive.

Rodney stared blindly at the ceiling. "Carson, please go fishing."

"Why?" Carson dabbed the antiseptic cleanser and pain cream liberally over the burn area.

"Because…because you were looking forward to going."

"I was looking forward to spending the afternoon with a good friend."

Rodney swallowed thickly. "And I screwed it up again."

Carson wrapped the bandage loosely around Rodney's arm. "Again?"

Rodney struggled to a sitting position. "Carson, I need to tell you something. I should have told you before, but I… I didn't know how. I told you when we found you that…another you died."

"In an explosion. I remember."

Rodney's head dropped. "It was my fault," he whispered.

Carson set the supplies aside and gazed quietly at Rodney until he looked up. "You set the explosion?"

"No, of course not, but-"

"It wasn't your fault," Carson said, his eyes not leaving Rodney's.

"But I-"

"It wasn't your fault."

"I should have gone fishing," Rodney moaned.

Carson stood and grasped Rodney's shoulders. "It was not your fault," he enunciated slowly.

Rodney blinked furiously and pulled away. "You don't understand!"

"You not going fishing didn't kill that Carson. It was an accident."

"I lied to him!" Rodney exclaimed hoarsely. "I told him I'd promised Katie that I'd spend the day with her, but I didn't. I just didn't want to go, and he died. I killed one of my best friends." His breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he turned his face away. "If I'd just gone with him…"

Carson's heart clenched at the waves of guilt and shame pouring from his friend. "Look at me, Rodney."

Wiping a hand over his face, Rodney took a deep breath and twisted to face him.

Carson pretended not to see the sheen of moisture in Rodney's eyes. "If you had gone that day, what would have happened?"

"He'd still be alive."

"And what else?"

Rodney frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What else would have happened if he hadn't been here?"

"Um…"

Carson sat down and leaned forward, holding Rodney's gaze. "I've read the report. The surgery he did on Teyla was very tricky. Without him, she might have died."

"But she might not have. There are other doctors."

"That's true." Carson nodded thoughtfully. "What if you hadn't been here?"

"What?"

"If you and he had gone fishing, who would have made the connection about Watson?"

Rodney's brow furrowed. "Watson?"

"The other scientist exposed to the device."

"Right. He and Hewston…" Rodney's eyes widened. "Oh, God, if I hadn't been here-"

"All those people in the infirmary would have died, including Teyla and whoever might have been sitting by her bedside."

Rodney looked towards where John and Ronon had been standing, then back at Carson. "It's not fair. To trade one life for another."

"He would have offered his life for theirs. Trust me, I know." Carson smiled gently. "Not being here would have killed him. He chose to not abandon Watson." He stood and squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "He put himself at risk because he wanted to save lives more than anything else."

Rodney's body sagged under Carson's hand. "God, I am so sorry. I know it isn't much, but I've wanted to say it for so long. I just wish…"

The guilt Carson had tried to move past surfaced again. "Me, too," he sighed. "I wish so many things – that I had been stronger when Michael forced me to help him, that I had sabotaged his work somehow, that I had been able to save Teyla's people." He began to pace. "That I- the other me had never played with the retrovirus or helped the Hoffans. Hell, I wish sometimes that I'd never heard of Atlantis or the Stargate program."

"Carson, you don't mean that. Besides, you didn't have a choice."

"We all have choices, Rodney. I could have let Michael kill every one of those villagers he marched in front of me. How many lives would I have saved if I'd let them die?"

Rodney shifted until he was upright. "You couldn't have known what he'd do."

"It was _Michael_. I knew but I chose to ignore it, chose to help the ones I could see." Carson turned away as the memories rose unbidden. "He used them as hybrid test subjects until he got the formula right, then he took the Athosians."

"What's done is done," Rodney murmured.

Carson turned to face Rodney with a wry smile. "I know that, lad. Been talking to Ronon, have you?"

Rodney's shoulders slumped as he nodded. "I understand the words, but I don't know how to put it into practice. Not really. So I just pretend like everything's fine."

"And work until you drop from exhaustion?"

"That, too."

"Stop blaming yourself. You aren't God, no matter how hard you try to be. He – the other Carson – he wouldn't hold you responsible for what happened."

Rodney sighed heavily. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Carson replied with a firm nod. "It's the one thing I am certain of, so stop holding on to all that guilt."

"I will if you will."

Carson held out his hand. "You have yourself a deal, Doctor McKay."

Eyes wide and vulnerable, Rodney stared at him for a moment. Emotion flickered on his face then slowly smoothed into something resembling acceptance. Rodney grasped Carson's hand tightly and shook it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Carson checked the IV drip then handed Rodney a cup of water. "Drink. You need to replace the fluids those burns are sucking up." He took a seat while Rodney gulped obediently. "By the way, what were you doing in that lab?"

"What?"

"I ordered you to eat and rest. Why were you in the lab?"

"Oh, that." Rodney slurped until the cup was empty then put it back on the bedside table. "I was in the middle of a perfectly lovely dream about…" He trailed off and flushed a brilliant red. "Never mind that. Anyway, I was asleep when what's-his-name called. An off-world team had brought back a device filled with an unknown substance that he was supposed to test. Someone had left the top off a container on the worktable, and he knocked it over. When I got there, the acid was spreading over the table, heading straight for that device he was studying. I moved it out of the way but not before acid spilled all over my arm."

"If someone else left the top off..."

"When I find out who did it, their ass is mine, too, but we have lab procedures, and one of them is to check the containers before you begin." Rodney rubbed at his forehead. "The rules are there for a reason. I can't hold their hands all the time."

"I'm sure they are all relieved to hear that." Carson grinned mischievously. "Now, since you are stuck here until those fluids are in you, what do you say to a movie? I have a copy of _Braveheart_."

Rodney shook his head. "I am not watching that again."

"Oh, come on. It's a great movie."

"Filled with blood and gore and men in skirts." Rodney made a face. "Not a chance."

"You're just jealous."

"Of what?"

"Scotland is known for William Wallace. Canada is known for Dudley Do-Right." Carson couldn't hold in a chuckle at Rodney's indignant spluttering.

"That isn't funny. I'll have you know, Canada has plenty of famous heroes."

Carson folded his arms over his chest. "Name one."

Rodney's chin lifted. "Me."

How could he possibly argue with that? Carson laughed. "I stand corrected. What would you like to watch?"

A pleased flush crept up Rodney's neck. "Jeannie sent me a copy of _The Dark Knight_."

"And what is that?"

"Are you kidding? It's the… Oh, um, well, they remade Batman and this is the sequel."

"I see. And do you have the first one?"

Rodney's mouth twisted. "Not anymore. Ronon decided to use it as a throwing spike. Sheppard has got to stop letting him watch those damn ninja movies."

"Did it work?"

"As a throwing spike? Of course. He's _Ronon_. It's embedded in a tree on M4H-585."

"Why did you have a Batman DVD with you on a mission?"

"I get bored on overnight missions so I put a few DVDs in my pack." Rodney slid lower on the bed, pouting like a child. "The only person who gets bored faster than me is Ronon. I lost _Batman Begins_, _The Godfather_ one and two, the entire _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, season four of _Desperate Housewives_-"

Carson choked on a laugh. "_Desperate Housewives_?"

Rodney glanced around guiltily then leaned forward. "Have you seen the hot chicks on that show?" he whispered.

"Oh, I might have caught an episode or two while I was recovering at the SGC. Very popular with the soldiers."

"Here too." Rodney yawned suddenly, exhaustion and the day's stresses and emotions catching up with him. He blinked sleepily as he wriggled down further until he was lying flat. "You're different than him, you know."

Carson frowned in confusion. "Him who?"

"The other Carson. I mean, you're Carson, of course, but," Rodney yawned again, "you're a little different than he was. You're _you_."

Carson was suddenly fascinated with the markings on the floor. "I guess two years with Michael…"

"Yeah," Rodney said quietly. "I can't imagine. But even if you hadn't been with him, you'd still be different. I know. I met another me once." Lids drooping, Rodney snuggled deeper into the bed. "The replicators constructed him; he had my memories and everything. Ronon, Teyla and Sheppard, too. They were us, but not. Different stuff had happened to them…" He trailed off as his eyes shut. "And us," he mumbled. "They made Elizabeth, too, but she wouldn't come with us. We tried so hard…"

He sat back as Rodney exhaled loudly and drifted to sleep. Carson made a mental note to find that mission report, though he was fairly certain he knew what had happened to those copies since they weren't here and the replicators had been involved. Still, it was actually comforting to know Rodney and the others had experienced something similar. Maybe that was why they had accepted him so easily. He wasn't as unique, as alone, as he'd feared.

Carson gently removed the IV from Rodney's arm and squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend." He pulled the sheet over Rodney then settled in the chair to keep watch. Pegasus could wait for a little while. His best friend needed him right now.

* * *

_Written for leesa perrie who wanted a Carson and Rodney friendship fic._


	19. Domino Effect

_No spoilers._

**Domino Effect**

"Must. Go. Faster!" McKay shouted. "They're coming around for another pass!"

The vice squeezing John's skull tightened as he concentrated on not getting them killed. "I'm trying, Rodney," he ground out. "Get ready to dial."

"I've been ready." McKay flinched as another blast shook the jumper. "Shield is down to thirty percent."

Green weaponsfire flashed around them again. John spun the jumper in a corkscrew, eliciting a string of curses from Rodney and a whoop from Ronon. The space gate appeared over the curvature of the moon, and John focused every ounce of energy into speeding towards it. They shot forward, twisting and tumbling away from the unknown enemy who'd decided to use them for target practice. McKay's hands were a blur as he dialed. A vortex of blue swirled, Teyla shouted into her radio, and suddenly they were hovering in Atlantis' gateroom.

John saw the gate shield coalesce as they rotated up into the jumper bay. Peeling his fingers from their death grip on the controls, he closed his eyes and just breathed. Every inch of his body hurt – his muscles were knotted, a spike jabbed deep into his brain, his spine cramped, and his stomach was threatening to rebel any second.

"Good job, Sheppard."

John hid a wince as Ronon's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Thanks. You guys okay?"

Teyla glanced around the cabin and nodded. "We are fine," she replied as she gathered the bags of grain she had traded for. "If this seed is as hardy as the Cameneleans promised, our harvest should be bountiful this year."

McKay sighed heavily as he poked at a few smoking crystals in the rear compartment. "Well, the jumper isn't fine. Who the hell were those guys?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to blink away the pain behind his eyes. "No idea. Let's hope they find another system to play in."

Teyla peered at him. "Are you well?"

"Fine. Nothing a shower and a hot meal won't cure," he assured her.

Ronon grinned in anticipation. "It's steak night."

"Really?" McKay dropped the crystals and snatched his gear. "This can wait."

"Do you think whoever fired upon us will attack the Cameneleans?" Teyla asked.

"Maybe. I'll have Lorne go take a look."

He keyed his comm and relayed orders to his second-in-command while the others cleared their belongings from the jumper. John stood, leaning against the console until his balance righted itself, then grabbed his pack and shuffled after his team as they tromped down the ramp. He was halfway down the ramp himself when he realized he'd forgotten his sunglasses. They were his favorite aviators, and he didn't want to lose another pair to the cleaning crew. "Finders keepers" took on a whole new meaning in Pegasus.

"I'll catch up," John called, heading back to the front cabin.

Something small and hard rocked underneath his boot. Already wobbly, he pitched forward and sprawled awkwardly over the command console, smacking his head on the controls. The blinding headache he already had exploded behind his eyes while the jumper powered up under his touch. His brain was trying to leak out his ears, and he gagged as he pushed away from the console and landed in the co-pilot's seat.

The world roared around him. He cradled his head in his hands, breathing slowly through his mouth until the nausea eased enough for him to slump back in the chair. He grimaced as he turned to search for the cause of his calamity.

"Way to go, John," he muttered, spying the jumper remote. "You know they're going to take that out of your check."

"_Sheppard, where are you?_"

John winced as Rodney's voice blared through his earpiece. "In the jumper."

"_Why?_"

"Because."

"_Wow. What a stunning wit you have. You coming or what?_"

"I'm coming." John climbed unsteadily to his feet and held on to the chairs until he reached the bulkhead door. Sparks flew from the crystal tray near his head. "Whoa!"

"_What's wrong?_"

John stumbled back to the console, placed a hand on it, and thought _off_. When nothing happened, he pressed the power button. "Huh. Jumper won't power down."

"_Why is it on?_"

"Not now, McKay," he sighed. Wondering when the hatch had shut, he pulled the release at the pilot's station. Again, nothing. He tried the primary and secondary releases in the rear, but the hatch stayed closed. "Okay, this could be a problem."

"_What?_"

John explained his mishap with the remote as he pushed at the controls. "Nothing's responding."

"_That's because you broke it with your hard head_," McKay huffed. "_I'm on my way_."

He was trapped in the jumper. Rodney and Ronon – and the entire Marine contingent – were never going to let him live this down. He'd survived three days of tedious negotiations and a shoot-out with a crappy spaceship carrying serious weapons only to almost kill himself by tripping over a stupid remote and somehow getting locked in. Feeling like shit – completely humiliated shit – John rested his head on the console as he waited for rescue.

The small headache he'd developed on Day Two of trade talks was now a full-blown migraine, and something else. He'd never felt this bad before, not without having a Wraith to blame. John tried to relax, but the silence and dimness of the jumper bay weren't easing his throbbing head. His stomach rolled again, and he couldn't hold in a moan as the muscle spasms in his back and legs worsened.

"_Ow!_" John jumped at Rodney's irritated shout. "_Son of a bitch! Why didn't you tell me the shield was on?_"

"Sorry, I didn't know," John murmured, slumping back down.

"_Sheppard!_"

"Hold it down, McKay." John swallowed the rising bile and lifted his head. "I'm right here."

Rodney glared at him from about three feet in front of the jumper's windshield. "_What do you mean…_" His eyes narrowed. "_What the hell happened to you?_"

"I told you I tripped and hit my head-"

"_The entire right side of your face is black and blue_." McKay's forehead creased, and his voice filled with concern. "_What's wrong?_"

John pulled a small mirror from his vest pocket and gaped. It wasn't a bruise. Broken capillaries ran the side of his face – spider veins of blue and deep red that began at the welt near his temple and were continuing to spread toward his jaw as he watched. "Oh, God."

"_John?_"

"I don't know what's wrong, Rodney. Just get me out of here."

"_Right._" McKay's head dropped as his fingers flew over his tablet. "_How long have you, um, felt, you know…bad?_"

"Nothing but a headache until this morning." John sagged in his chair and slid his shades on. "This sucks."

"_Damn,_" Rodney swore softly. "_I can't seem to connect to the jumper's systems wirelessly. Can you pull the crystals?_"

"Which ones?"

"_As many as it takes until the power goes off_."

John pushed to his feet, wavering slightly, then staggered to the rear compartment. He stared at the crystal array that McKay had been tampering with earlier. About half of the crystals were charred; several more sparked angrily. He reached for one, snatching his hand back as a blue arc leapt at him. He tried again and managed to work it loose before another small bolt of electricity stung him. He jerked away, and everything tilted when a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"_Sheppard!_"

He stumbled sideways then crumpled to his hands and knees as vertigo took over. His stomach churned violently at all the motion. The muscles and tendons in his back spasmed as he heaved.

"_John!_"

He ripped the comm from his ear and flung it away. Tears streamed down his face as the migraine squeezed until he thought his eyes would pop out. Muscles knotted in his sides. His joints refused to function. His arms trembled with the effort to hold himself up. Breathing heavily through his mouth, he waited until the spinning stopped then forced his body to move, crawling to the cockpit and slumping to the floor, exhausted.

A frantic squawk from nearby reminded him of the rogue earpiece. Spotting it under his chair, he snagged it with a fingertip and settled it in his ear.

"_-there? John! Answer me, damn it!_"

"Rodney?"

"_Oh, thank God. What-_"

John groaned and curled on his side as his stomach began to cramp. "Please, Rodney, get me out of here."

"_Are you okay?_"

"No. Something's really wrong. Please."

"_Can you pull the crystals?_"

Sparks popped and sizzled in both arrays, arcs flying between them, the stench of fried circuits curdling his stomach. "I don't think so, not without getting electrocuted."

"_I need to get to the control room so I can work on this. Can you hang on?_"

John clawed his way into the chair. "Yeah."

"_I got this, McKay_." Ronon stepped into view. "_Go._"

Rodney didn't move until John smiled weakly at him then he dashed out like he had Wraith on his tail.

"_Hey, Sheppard_."

John leaned back with a sigh. "Hey, big guy."

"_You look like shit_."

"You should stop spending so much time around Marines."

Ronon snorted. "_Learned that from McKay_."

"Figures," John murmured, closing his eyes as he tried to will away the bone-deep ache thrumming through his body.

"_Why don't you just shoot out the window and climb through?_"

John cracked his lids open. "Didn't think about it. I wonder-"

"_Don't waste your time_," McKay interrupted, panting heavily. "_We reinforced the windshield after Ronon shot the last one out. Bulletproof glass now_."

"_My gun doesn't use bullets_," Ronon retorted.

"_It's also not inside the jumper_." Rodney heaved a sigh. "_I'm_ _here. Let's see…_"

John tuned McKay out as he babbled about control systems and overrides. Sweat slicked his face and soaked his shirt, and he moaned as shivers racked tender muscles.

"_Colonel?_"

He pushed up enough to look out the front. Lorne gazed worriedly back at him. "I'll be fine, Major. Carry out your mission."

"_Yes, Sir._"

"And remember, cloak as soon as you exit the gate. Those guys didn't bother to ask questions before they opened fire."

Lorne nodded sharply. "_Understood_." He and his team loaded onto Jumper Twelve and headed out.

Ronon stepped as close to John's jumper as the shield would allow, his face drawn with concern. "_Sheppard, you're bleeding_."

John gingerly felt around the swollen knot on his forehead, but his fingers came away dry. "I am? Wh-" Before he could get the question out, a warm trickle oozed over his top lip. He dabbed at it, tracing it back to the left side of his nose.

"_Did you hit that side of your head, too?_"

"No," John whispered, panic rising in his chest as the trickle turned into a gush. He tasted blood when he swallowed and a touch to his tongue stained his fingers.

"_What's happening?_" McKay asked.

"_Sheppard's nose is bleeding_," Ronon answered. "_A lot_."

"Mouth, too," John said, pulling gauze from his pocket and pressing it to his nose. "This is more than a migraine, isn't it?"

Ronon nodded. "_Looks like Bedrasa Blood Fever_."

"_Doctor Keller and I are on our way_," Teyla cut in. "_Ronon, are you certain?_"

"_Yeah. Melena's sister had it. He's got the markings on his face, both eyes are red, and he's sweating and shaking so hard he's about to fall out of his chair._"

"_John, do you have a rash on your chest or arms?_" Teyla asked.

"Um…" He squinted at his arms then down the front of his shirt. "On my chest."

"_Muscle pain? Headache? Nausea?_"

"Yes, to all three."

"_Are we all going to get it?_" McKay asked.

"_It is possible_," Teyla answered, "_but only if you were bitten by an insect that carries-"_

"_Insect?_" Rodney repeated. "_You were bitten by an insect, Sheppard? When?_"

John sighed. "I don't know. I don't remember getting bitten by anything on Camenel."

"_It is usually spread by the res'eq fly, an insect so small that you probably would not have noticed it or felt its bite,_" Teyla replied._ "John, my people have an herbal drink that eases the symptoms of Bedrasa. It is not a cure, but it will help you feel better. I will return as quickly as I can_."

"Thanks, Teyla." John wiped the blood from his face, and his jaw dropped when he checked the mirror again. The whites of his eyes were blood red. "Aw, that's gross." He grunted and clutched the console, his breath hitching as cramps raced from his calves to his thighs.

"_Hang on, Sheppard_." Ronon's voice was calm, but carried undertones of fear. "_McKay, you need to hurry_."

"_I'm trying! Everything's scrambled. The jumper won't recognize the control room commands_."

John moaned, hunching over as his abdominals throbbed wildly. The pain that shot through his chest wrenched a gasp from him that ended in a whimper.

Ronon paced in long, furious strides. "_McKay said the shield was at thirty percent earlier. Can I shoot it down?_"

"Good thought, but not quite enough fire power for that." An idea glimmered in the back of John's mind, and he groaned when it finally took shape. "I'm an idiot."

"_What is it?_" McKay asked.

"What happens if I shoot the crystals?"

"_I'll spend a month replacing them, which I'd probably have to do anyway based on the damage you described_."

"_Just a minute, Colonel_." Keller jogged into view. "_Rodney, sparks are still flying in there. What effect will gunfire have?_"

"_It's dangerous_," McKay admitted, "_but I'm not sure we have a choice. I can't get the shield down from here, and I still have to figure out how to open the hatch_."

"_I'll get him out_." Ronon pulled his blaster. "_Don't forget to duck, Sheppard_."

"Got it."

John took a steadying breath and used the chair and console to stand. He blinked the sweat from his eyes then pulled his .45, grimacing at his shaky aim. A thousand knives stabbed his brain as the gunshot reverberated through the jumper. He gritted his teeth and kept firing while sweat poured down his face and his stomach lurched. Electricity spit and crackled at him. The gun grew heavy in his hands then clicked on empty. Power surged for a second before the jumper went dark. John's muscles seized fiercely, and he cried out, crashing to the floor.

Distorted voices shouted in his ear. Glass shattered. Twitching helplessly, John fought to stay conscious until gentle hands touched him. With a relieved sigh, he surrendered to the darkness.

xxx

Fever gripped John tightly and refused to let go. He thrashed as his temperature climbed dangerously, chasing disjointed dreams and snatches of conversation. Lights had been dimmed to almost black, but still his head pounded mercilessly. He gasped as the thin sheet covering him was pulled back and cold compresses were tucked around him.

"No," he whispered, pushing weakly at the hands near his arms. "Cold."

"Shhhhh," a voice responded. "We need to get your fever down."

He cried out as his body twisted and trembled uncontrollably, his IV lines banging harshly against their poles. Strong hands massaged muscles that were hard knots of steel while a damp cloth caressed his face. The rash spread over his body like wildfire, but regular blood draws were out of the question after the first puncture bled for an hour. During his lucid moments, Teyla would help him sip the herbal drink her people made which eased the pain and nausea.

As the fever raged, John swung from shivering violently to soaking wet with sweat. By the second day, his temperature hit a peak of one hundred and five.

John jerked awake as something clattered in the distance. A small form hovered nearby, hidden in the shadows. His heart raced as his eyes darted around the darkened room. He shifted, feeling a tug in the crook of his elbow and the back of his hand.

He'd been captured, drugged. He had to get away. He rolled on his side and slipped over the edge of the bed, silently pulling the needles from his arm, not noticing the blood welling up and splashing to the floor. He was weak and unsteady so he gripped the rail of the next bed and took one step then another before cramps hit suddenly, forcing him to his knees.

"John?" a feminine voice called. "What is wrong?"

"Who are you?" he growled. "What do you want with me? Where's my team?"

The small form stepped toward him, hands reaching out. "I am Teyla. You are ill, John. Please let me help you."

"Don't touch me!" He scrambled backward, squinting at the silhouette. "I don't know you!"

She hesitated then knelt in front of him. "Yes, you do. We are very good friends. I know you are in pain. Please, do not be afraid."

John recognized the words, but they jumbled in his head, making no sense. She reached for him again, and he gasped when a flicker of light illumined green skin and a feeding maw in her hand. "Wraith!" he screamed, lunging at her.

She caught him easily. "John, no! You are delirious. It's me, Teyla."

He clawed and scratched at her, flailing wildly until he connected with her head. She let go with a grunt, and he crawled away frantically then ran into a solid mass.

"Sheppard?" a huge being with snakes on his head lifted John to his feet. "What-"

"Let me go!" John shouted. "I'll kill you if I have to."

"He is hallucinating, Ronon," the Wraith said. "Help me get him back to bed."

He kicked and fought, but the mountain refused to let him go, manhandling him to the bed and holding him down.

"Where is my team?" John yelled.

"We're right here," the mountain said calmly. "And you're bleeding all over the place."

The Wraith reappeared, bringing more creatures with her. Some were tall and willowy, others short and gnarled. Sharp things pricked his skin. Cloth wound around the throbbing places on his arm. Garbled words flitted around him, but he couldn't catch them. Hands were everywhere, poking, prodding, shifting. Darkness stalked him, leered at him as it darted between the beings hurting him.

He screamed for help until something cool hit his veins.

Then the blackness swallowed him whole.

xxx

John drifted in and out of consciousness for the next couple of days. Depleted of energy and fluids, the best he could do was blink woozily whenever anyone moved into his field of vision. Someone was always at his bedside. Teyla shared updates on Torren and life on New Athos. Woolsey ran through staff meeting notes. Ronon plotted practical jokes on the new batch of recruits due to arrive the next week. Lorne gave a report on the Cameneleans – no sign of trouble from the crappy spaceship. Rodney bitched about incompetent scientists, bad coffee, too much work, and lazy-assed colonels who couldn't stay awake through perfectly good rants.

Slowly, John's temperature returned to normal, but the migraine and body aches remained even after he drank the Athosian remedy until he was practically floating in it. The rash disappeared along with the nausea, and solid food improved both his strength and his mood.

"Hello, John." Teyla stepped in when the nurse who had been checking his vitals opened the privacy curtain. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better." He grunted at the twinge in his shoulders when he scooted upright. "How's your head?"

Teyla smiled as her fingertips brushed the fading bruise on her temple. "I am fine as I have told you more than once," she chided lightly. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved. What have you got?"

"A turkey sandwich with mustard, chips, a bowl of _mina_ berries, and water."

His stomach growled appreciatively when Teyla rolled the tray table to his bed. "No dessert?"

She laughed as she pulled a cookie from her pocket with a flourish. "Oatmeal with extra raisins."

John grinned as he reached for his favorite cookie then pulled back with a wince when cramps rippled up his arm and across his chest. He fell back against the pillow, panting through the spasms. "How much longer is this going to last?" he asked.

Teyla set the cookie on his tray and lifted his arm, kneading the knotted muscles with expert fingers. "Once the fever dissipates, the other symptoms typically fade quickly. Perhaps another day or two."

He exhaled in relief as the cramps finally stopped. "Thanks."

Teyla patted his arm gently then popped a handful of berries in her mouth as she took a seat. "You are welcome."

She chatted while he ate, telling him about Woolsey's new assistant who had arrived that morning on the Daedalus and was already making Rodney's life hell. John chuckled at the thought, knowing he could expect a nice long visit from McKay later in the day. He winced as the pounding headache ratcheted up a notch, making him squint even in the dim light.

Teyla pulled the privacy curtain closed. "Rest, John. One of us will be here when you awaken."

He closed his eyes with a nod and pushed the tray table away. He was asleep in seconds.

xxx

"Well, look who's awake." The chair screeched across the floor as McKay dragged it in place and dropped in it with an aggrieved sigh. "That woman is going to be the death of me."

John stretched gingerly, still weak but thankfully pain free. "Which one? There are so many to choose from."

"You're hysterical," McKay said dryly. "Really. I'm laughing on the inside."

Ronon walked behind Rodney, whacking his head lightly as he passed, and perched on the next bed. "Try being nice to her."

"Who?" John asked.

Teyla rolled her eyes as she sat on the foot of John's bed. "Hannah, Mr. Woolsey's assistant."

"She's a tyrant," McKay groused.

"She is perfectly lovely," Teyla retorted. "And very good at her job."

Rodney folded his arms over his chest with a derisive snort. "You'll see," he warned John. "Just wait until she badgers you for requisition forms and personnel reviews and a thousand other bits of inane bureaucratic nonsense."

John propped his hands behind his head and grinned. "Maybe she'll have it all out of her system by the time I'm back on duty."

"Thought Keller was releasing you today," Ronon said.

"She is, but only to my quarters. I have a few days before I'll be ready to go out in the field." John waggled his brows. "She'll have taken all her frustrations out on McKay by then."

"You suck," Rodney mumbled.

John laughed at McKay's grouchy expression which only served to egg the man on.

"That woman hates me," Rodney whined, a smile twitching on his lips as Teyla giggled and Ronon chuckled. "Nothing I do is good enough. Yesterday, she had the audacity to tell me that the vacation request I turned in was filled out wrong. The same form I've been filling out for five years."

"Was she correct?" Teyla asked.

"That's beside the point."

John burrowed deeper into the bed as the easy banter of his team swirled around him. He was exhausted in a healing kind of way, and he slowly drifted to sleep to the sounds of laughter and friendship.

* * *

_Written for the sheppard hc flashfic challenge. Prompt: traps/trapped. Thanks to my beta, kristen999. All faults mine._


	20. Wirepullers

_A/N: This is an AU._

**Wirepullers**

Teyla read through her notes again as the old De Soto taxicab chugged across the airfield. Ten years of gossip columns and society pages had brought her to this moment. The divorce of socialite Nancy Sheppard from utility mogul Patrick Sheppard's youngest son had set tongues wagging all over Washington, especially after said son disappeared completely from public view. Teyla had attended every party, every gala, every charity function and political rally and awards banquet, searching for a nugget, a crumb of information on John Sheppard. What she found staggered her to her core.

The cab stopped in front of a metal hangar with chipped red paint that at one time had proudly proclaimed "Atlantis, Inc." A yellow Packard two-seater convertible coupe with beige trim and whitewalls was parked near the open hangar door. Next to it was a blue Oldsmobile Touring Sedan that had seen better days. Its front grill and long hood were crumpled on the right side, a running board dangled precariously close to the ground, and the tall, boxy roof had dozens of tiny dents.

Teyla patted the curls pinned to the nape of her neck, straightened her pale straw hat, and pulled a few bills from her handbag. "Please wait here," she instructed the driver. "I will return in a moment."

He nodded, and she climbed out, carrying a satchel full of documents, her notes, a pad of paper and several pencils. She took a calming breath, lifted her chin, and strode toward the hanger, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete as she stepped inside.

Shouted profanities from a back office echoed in a room filled with three planes in various states of disrepair. Teyla paused and pulled her research on Sheppard's business. He had recently purchased a Rearwin Sportster 7000, the shiny red plane with one wing on top of its double passenger cabin that now sat on the right side of the room. Its single propeller had been removed from the front, and the engine was in a million pieces near the wall.

A similar plane with a longer body occupied the room's center. Four seats leaned against the white fuselage, and the rest of the interior was separated into neat piles in front of them. Teyla had to check the logo to confirm it as the Fairchild 24, meaning the aircraft with no wheels on the left had to be the Ryan ST-A Special. Built for sport, the gleaming silver plane had two tandem open cockpits above the wing, leaving the pilot and a passenger exposed to wind and sun.

A man with tousled hair, wearing denim and a rough white workshirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, peered down at her from the front seat of the Ryan. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Yes, I am seeking John Sheppard."

"Well, you found him." He stepped onto the wing, then hopped to the ground. "What can I do for you?"

He barely resembled his photos and was not at all as she had expected. Grime under his nails, unshaven for at least two days, a smudge of grease on his cheek. Nothing like the Cary Grant types she usually dealt with. She liked him immediately. "I am Teyla Emmagan of the Washington Gazette. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

His expression went totally flat. His eyes flicked over her, and then, to his credit, they settled on her face and didn't waver. "A lady reporter. Don't see many of those."

She arched a brow at him. "It is 1938, Mr. Sheppard. Women have more opportunities than ever. We are capable of doing more than we have been given credit for. Since we gained the right to vote-"

"You don't have to sell me on it. My mother was a suffragette."

"I know. I have seen the news clippings."

He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. "What can I do for you, Miss Emmagan?" he prompted.

"I have been attempting to locate you for the last two years. In my research of your family-"

"Leave my family out of this," he warned, his eyes cold and his face hard.

"Do you deny their support of Germany's return to power in Europe?"

She got the reaction she had hoped for. His face flushed scarlet, and a muscle jumped angrily in his jaw as he stepped forward and hissed, "That's a lie."

Teyla held her ground, studying every gold fleck in his green eyes. Either he was a brilliant actor or he really had no idea what he was involved in.

"Is everything okay, Sheppard?" A big man with slicked-back hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee peered from inside the Fairchild aircraft. He wiped a hand on his stained coveralls as he climbed out.

"Everything's fine, Ronon. The lady was just leaving."

Teyla reached toward him. "It was not my intention to upset you-"

"Upset me?" He quivered with rage as he drew back. "My family might be a lot of things, but German sympathizers is not one of them. I spent over a year in the trenches fighting them. My brother…"

"I am aware of your service in the Great War, and of your brother's sacrifice. My condolences."

Ronon towered over her. "You should go."

Teyla met his gaze unflinchingly. "Please allow me to explain my purpose here first."

Ronon looked to Sheppard and backed away at his nod.

She smiled her thanks and opened her notepad. "I needed to gauge your response to the charge of conspiring with the Nazis-"

"I'm not conspiring with the Nazis!"

"Actually, Mr. Sheppard, you are. But I don't think you realize it."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "What are you talking about?"

"You have an engineer working for you named Rodney McKay?"

"Yes. He's on the telephone in the office."

Teyla scanned through her notes. "Your company received a grant from a private institute, Bridge Studies and Research, to redesign the gas turbine engine for use in airplanes, creating something called a turbojet engine which mixes fuel with compressed air then ignites it. The combustion expands through the turbine and powers-"

"I know what a turbine engine is."

"The current design burns the metal. Your funding is for the development of one that doesn't."

His eyes narrowed as he considered her. "Where did you get that information?"

"I know a lot of people, Mr. Sheppard. One happens to work in the typing pool at Bridge." She tucked her notes in her satchel, and focused on his face. "Bridge is financed by Asuran Enterprises. They specialize in propulsion systems."

He frowned at her. "I know who they are."

"Did you know Asuran Enterprises shares the same board of directors as Mikeltod Ventures?"

The angry flush paled. "You have proof?"

Teyla nodded. "Yes. The same men direct both companies. Are you familiar with Mikeltod?"

"I've had a few encounters with some of their people."

"They are a very wealthy conglomerate. Their major industries deal with transportation and technology, and they are owned by an international financial firm known as Einwraith Alliance."

"Who?"

"Mr. Sheppard, Einwraith Alliance is the funding arm of Nazi Germany."

xxx

John's mind whirred as he gaped at the small woman. He was working for the Germans? Here, in America? How could that be? He'd done the research on Bridge Studies and Asuran Enterprises himself. How had he missed the connection to Mikeltod?

"Ronon, get McKay out here," he ordered.

He unconsciously rubbed the scar on his shoulder left by a German bullet twenty years ago. His father had sent two sons to war, and only got one back. The wrong one.

A hint of sadness darkened the woman's eyes. "Mr. Sheppard?"

John pulled himself out of the memories. "I'm sorry. What was your name?"

"Teyla Emmagan."

"Well, Miss Emmagan, you've come a long way to tell me that." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sleek silver fuselage of the Ryan. "What did you hope to gain from it? A front page story? I guess having the Sheppard name in there will get you that."

"Originally, it was about a story. You had a public dispute with your father and vanished." She gazed coolly at him. "I will not apologize for working hard to provide for those who rely on me. I have no wish to harm you or your family, but finding you would have been a feather in my cap, Mr. Sheppard, and a way for me to advance."

John tilted his head, watching the emotion flit over her features. "Would have been?"

"Once I discovered the connection to the Nazis, my focus changed." Teyla's blue polka-dot skirt swirled around shapely legs as she spun away and began to pace. "They imprisoned my uncle and his family in Austria, claiming he was a political dissenter. The world stood by and did nothing while an entire country was overtaken. Since I am not allowed to defend my home and my people as a man would," her chin lifted, "I will fight for them in my own way."

"By telling a story about me?"

Teyla shook her head. "No. My story will reveal the truth about Asuran Enterprises to the world and hopefully cause Einwraith's funding to crumble."

John smiled at the determined look in her eye. She was intelligent, beautiful, and confident. She might actually be able to do what she claimed.

"Sheppard, what the hell is going on? I was in the middle of- Oh! Um, excuse my language, ma'am." Rodney brushed crumbs from his shirtfront as he glared at Ronon. "I didn't realize we had feminine company."

"Dr. Rodney McKay," John said, "this is Miss Teyla Emmagan."

"Dr. McKay." Teyla extended a white-gloved hand.

John chuckled when McKay blushed at her honeyed tones and brilliant smile. After fussing with his tie and smoothing a hand over his thinning hair, Rodney nodded shyly and shook her hand. "A pleasure, Miss Emmagan."

"And this is Ronon Dex," John jerked a thumb toward the big man, "best mechanic in Chicago."

Ronon clasped his hands behind his back and gave a quick nod. "Ma'am."

"Mr. Dex," Teyla replied. A honk drew their attention outside, and she gasped. "My taxi! Poor man, I forgot all about him."

"I'll be happy to drive you to your hotel this evening if you want to send him on his way," John offered.

When Teyla nodded and hurried out to dismiss him, Rodney leaned close and whispered, "What's going on?"

"She says she has proof that the engine design you're doing is for the Nazis."

"Told you," Ronon muttered.

Rodney blanched. "That- that's not possible. I thought you had that company checked out."

"I did."

"Well, obviously not good enough!" McKay ripped the tie from his neck. "Do you know what will happen when this gets out? I'll be ruined! My sister won't speak to me now. Imagine how she'll react to me being a sympathizer. All my research will be called into question. I'll never-"

"This isn't about you, Rodney!" John scrubbed a hand over his neck as he stalked a few paces and turned. "I haven't seen her proof, but if it's true, we have more problems than your reputation."

"I know that," McKay snapped. "I am a genius, you know. If the Germans are using my designs to build working jet engines…"

"Nobody in Europe will be able to match the Luftwaffe," Ronon finished. "What are we going to do?"

John trailed a hand down the silver nose of the Ryan, remembering the rush of take-off, the sun warming his face, the wind tearing at his hair, the absolute freedom of breaking the bonds of gravity and soaring in a clear sky. Life was simple in those moments.

"Sheppard?"

"I haven't decided, Ronon. Let's see what the lady has first."

"Do you believe her?" McKay asked.

"I don't know. I hope she's wrong, but I always wondered why Bridge sought out an operation as small as mine to conduct this research." John's head dropped. "Damn."

xxx

Rodney's heart was lodged in his throat as he watched Miss Emmagan walk back in. Canada wasn't at war yet with Germany but he was afraid another move like the annexing of Austria would lead to it. He had been called paranoid – and worse – but he liked to be prepared. His stomach twisted as the ramifications set in. He would be considered a traitor, maybe not intentionally, but he had been helping the potential enemy. If the woman was correct. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had him confused with another scientist working on a jet engine.

"Sheppard says you have proof. I want to see it," he announced.

"McKay." Sheppard glared at him then heaved a sigh. "Ronon, close the hangar door. Let's go to the office. It's a little more comfortable there."

When they entered the office, Rodney stuffed his tie in a pocket of his navy herringbone jacket that hung on the coat rack next to his trilby hat and walking cane. He switched off the radio in the middle of Bob Hope crooning "Thanks for the Memory" and flopped in a chair, drumming his fingers on the table that Sheppard was clearing of design sketches and unpaid invoices. Rodney squirmed in his seat until Ronon reappeared. "It's about time."

Ronon squeezed Rodney's shoulder painfully as he passed. "Apologies, ma'am."

Teyla smiled. "No need to apologize, Mr. Dex." She shuffled through a few papers and laid them carefully in sequence on the small, round table. "My friend, Elizabeth, works in the government offices. She helped me copy the documents, and we were in a terrible rush so the penmanship is not our best."

Rodney's eyes crossed after the first few pages. Unlike physics texts, business papers were nonsense as far as he was concerned, though Sheppard was completely immersed in them. Most days, he forgot Sheppard's pedigree – Harvard man with a millionaire father. John was driven, no doubt about it, but when it came to planes, he was like a kid which was one reason they got along so well. Few people appreciated the elegant line of an aircraft like they did. Ronon, too. Dex wasn't much of a conversationalist, but he could build anything Rodney designed.

The last two years had been the best of Rodney's life. Sheppard had a few clients he transported on a regular basis, but most of their income came from Rodney's inventions. After he'd been fired from his last three university posts for "insubordination and other conduct unbecoming a professor," his parents had cut him off, declaring him an embarrassment to the family and to the scientific community. He'd taken a job completely beneath him – repair work at an airfield in Pittsburgh – when Sheppard's beautiful red Rearwin Sportster practically fell out of the sky, smoke pouring from the engine. It had taken Rodney all of ten minutes to fix it.

Sheppard had offered to buy him dinner as thanks. Over the course of the evening, Rodney shared his misadventures as an educator and Sheppard told of his dreams to build bigger and better airplanes. By the time they finished, Rodney had a new job. He packed his things and boarded a train to Chicago where Sheppard pointed him to an office and told him to dream big. The research grant from Bridge had been a godsend, allowing him to focus all his energies on one project. While his brilliance had never been questioned, which was certainly why Bridge had chosen Sheppard's company, his reputation had been tarnished by the firings. Success would mean regaining his stature, at least in academia.

When the color drained from Sheppard's face, Rodney sagged; life as he knew it was over.

"It's true?" Ronon asked.

Sheppard closed his eyes and tossed the papers on the table. "Yeah."

"How much have we given them?"

"Everything." Rodney slumped in his seat. "I sent a cable yesterday with an update, and I put my designs in the post."

"Can we get them back?"

"No," Sheppard answered. "But we don't do anything else. We close. Destroy everything."

"Then what?" Ronon asked.

"Tell the authorities," Sheppard suggested.

Rodney threw up his hands. "What authorities? The policeman near my flat who takes money from the grocer to protect him from the local thugs?"

"Of course not," Sheppard replied. "I've heard good things about the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Hoover's group?" Rodney scoffed. "All they care about is catching famous criminals. I doubt they'd care about engine designs being sent to Germany, which may be immoral but certainly isn't illegal. We don't even know how the designs are getting there. What would we tell them?"

"I don't know," Sheppard snapped. "I'll think of something."

"If I may, I have another idea." Teyla stacked the papers neatly and put them away. "What if you continue your work?"

Sheppard's brow knitted. "What do you mean?"

"Send modified information-"

"That's insane!" Rodney pronounced. "We're in enough trouble as it is without… Oh. Oh, that might work."

Ronon sat up straight. "What might work?"

Rodney locked gazes with Sheppard, who began to smile. "Send them false reports."

xxx

Ronon leaned back in his chair, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes as the opening strains of _The Lone Ranger_ theme blared on the radio. The three months since Teyla had arrived had been the busiest he'd had since coming to work for Sheppard. The man had taken him in, given him work with no questions asked about the scars on his back or the prison markings on his arm. Ronon didn't remember much of the weeks following Melena's murder, but he'd been told he killed the man who had violated her and he willingly gave up seven years of his life in return.

He'd learned a lot during his incarceration, absorbing everything anyone wanted to teach him. One man had been something of a scholar and had taught Ronon to read and write then moved on to math and science. Ronon didn't always understand the terms but he had an innate grasp of the concepts.

Ronon spent the first couple of weeks after the fake reports began finishing the interior of the four-passenger Fairchild so Sheppard had one plane he could use for clients. McKay spent long days and nights designing and redesigning. In the following weeks, Ronon had built and tested each of McKay's models. By the end of the third month, they had fallen into a pattern: analyze the test results from the day before, rework the design the right way and the wrong way, eat some lunch, rebuild, and retest.

"The flame cans won't fit in the gap properly."

"I know that," McKay replied. "That's the point."

"Won't it be obvious?"

"Well, hopefully not immediately."

Ronon frowned at him. "When did you last sleep?"

"Sleep is for mortals," McKay huffed. "I'm trying to actually design an engine that works while dummying up plans for one that doesn't. I barely have time to eat."

Ronon snorted. "I haven't seen you miss a meal."

"You either." McKay's stomach growled loudly. "Is it time for lunch?"

Ronon chuckled as he picked up the sketches again. Sheppard had hired McKay a few weeks after Ronon had started. McKay had watched him nervously for the first day or two, then ignored him completely. Ronon didn't know McKay's story, but something haunted the man, drove him to prove himself over and over again. Oddly enough, it was the one thing they all had in common.

The frantic tap of heels in the hangar made Ronon's breath catch. Teyla didn't resemble Melena at all except for her feminine grace, but even after all these years, it still hurt.

Ronon leapt to his feet when Teyla stumbled inside. Her hair was disheveled, her hat was missing, the sleeve of her dress was torn, and a trickle of blood had dried on the corner of her mouth.

"What happened?" Ronon demanded.

Teyla threw herself in his arms, trembling. "A man… He attacked me when I left my hotel this morning." She took a shaky breath. "I fought him off and ran."

Ronon's blood pounded in his ears as memories of Melena returned. He held Teyla gently, and looked at McKay. The man's face was white with rage.

"Then what did you do?" Ronon asked.

"I walked here."

"From town?" McKay gaped at her. "Teyla, that's over ten miles."

"I know, but I had no alternative. He took my satchel with all of my notes and research. My handbag was in it. I had no way of paying for a taxi."

"We would have paid," Ronon said.

Teyla pulled away and stared at the ground. "I was frightened of getting into a car with a stranger. I hid whenever a vehicle passed. Perhaps I should have been braver, but I had nothing to defend myself with, and-"

"You did the right thing." McKay patted her shoulder awkwardly. "We should report this to the police? Can you describe the man?"

"I recognized him when I saw him in the hotel lobby yesterday. He works for Mikeltod."

"What?" McKay exclaimed.

Teyla nodded miserably. "Is John here?"

"Had a client to ferry to Cincinnati this morning," Ronon replied. "He should be back any time."

"I heard from Elizabeth," Teyla said. "She has a contact inside Mikeltod. The design flaws have been noticed."

Ronon frowned. "You mean they knew before they stole your satchel?"

"Yes. Are you close to completing the true design?" Teyla asked McKay.

"Of course not. I've modified the shape of the flame caps and moved them out of the gap, but the engine is still burning out too soon. I need more time."

"I do not believe we have more time, Rodney."

Ronon turned at the faint drone of an engine. "Sheppard's back."

The Fairchild circled overhead and dipped its wings before it landed and screeched to a halt precisely in front of the hangar.

Sheppard hopped out, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks, but his body tensed and his expression darkened as soon as he saw Teyla's face. "Are you alright?"

Teyla nodded. "I will be fine, John."

"What happened?"

"We've been found out," McKay announced.

"So soon?"

"The German scientists aren't stupid, no matter how much we wish it. I've studied their work in the past. They were already close. I'm sure they were being…encouraged to finish as quickly as possible so they had all the top minds on it. Which would explain why they came to you since, of course, I work here."

Ronon would have glared at McKay except it was true. McKay's name was sprinkled liberally throughout the advanced science texts the prison scholar had owned, though Ronon had never mentioned it. The man's ego was big enough already.

"Do they know you were deliberately sabotaging the designs?" Sheppard asked.

"Obviously. Look at what they did to her." McKay paced a few steps then exhaled loudly. "If one of them sent me designs like that I'd think they were doing it on purpose. The errors are minute, but the volume of them… Someone at my level doesn't make those kinds of mistakes. Plus, we probably aren't the only company doing this research. I'm sure they are running comparisons."

Sheppard pulled his grey Fedora off and raked his fingers through his hair. "I've been trying to think of a way out of this, but I haven't come up with anything yet. I was hoping to have a little more time."

"How much trouble are we in?" McKay asked quietly. "Will the Nazis come after us?"

"No, Rodney, we're a long way from Germany. But the boys at Mikeltod think we've done this on purpose; they have a couple of guys they use to enforce contracts. They'll come for us."

McKay paled. "What should we do? Give them the real designs?"

"We cannot," Teyla insisted. "To do so would be to hand the advantage to the Germans."

"Then what?" McKay asked. "I'm averse to being used as a punching bag."

"We run," Ronon said.

"What?" McKay squeaked. "Where?"

"Anywhere." Ronon folded his arms over his chest. "I don't have any ties here. Your sister lives in another country. Sheppard's father has bodyguards. Teyla?"

"My closest relatives are dead, and a distant cousin has been caring for the others while I have worked here with you." Teyla swallowed thickly. "I do not wish to endanger them. I will come with you if I may."

"What about your story?" Sheppard asked.

"I can file it from anywhere."

Sheppard's gaze lost focus as he stared into the distance. "Run," he murmured. He remained quiet for a moment then his eyes snapped up. "Get what you can and meet back here in an hour. Don't go overboard, Rodney. The plane will hold the four of us and one suitcase each. Ronon, go with McKay and Teyla."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I don't need help packing."

"He's not going to help you pack, Rodney."

"Oh." McKay gulped. "Okay, let's go then."

Sheppard nodded. "We leave in an hour."

xxx

John waved as McKay's beat-up '34 Olds sputtered and lurched away from the hangar. Hurrying back to the Fairchild, he navigated it to the refueling area and ran through his flight prep list. Once he was satisfied the plane was ready to go, he headed to the office and stuffed all of Rodney's designs in a box along with a few important files and the stack of cash he kept hidden in his pilot's manual. He stowed the box in the plane's tiny cargo hold then went to the small room in the back that he and Ronon inhabited.

The day he'd met Ronon, the man had been carrying all his possessions in a single bag that he still kept by his bed, packed. John shook his head as he tossed the bag near the door and pulled his suitcase from under his bed. Ronon's side of the room was bare without the bag – no photos or keepsakes, nothing of a personal nature. John glanced at his side and laughed. Other than his copy of _War and Peace_, his prized pin-up of Jean Harlow, and the photo of him and his brother in uniform, his side was just as Spartan.

He emptied the small dresser and crammed the contents in the suitcase, laid his book, poster, and photo on top, then leaned heavily on it and latched it shut. He dropped his toothbrush, comb, hair grease, and razor in his toiletry pouch, grabbed his suitcase, slung Ronon's bag over his shoulder, and headed out.

When he rounded the red Rearwin aircraft, two men were waiting for him.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Sheppard?" the taller one asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am. I have…a client to pick up. In St. Louis. I'll be back in a couple of days, so whatever you boys need will have to wait until then."

"Where's your engineer?"

"I have no idea. Probably sleeping. He's been working long hours on a project."

The short, stocky man shook his head. "He's not at home. We've been there."

John's heart pounded painfully as he imagined Rodney facing these men alone. "What do you want with him?"

"You have a contract with Bridge Studies that you haven't fulfilled yet," the tall man replied. "We're here to encourage you to do so."

"We have been working day and night on that," John stated, setting the suitcase and bags on the ground. "What business is it of yours?"

"Our employer has an interest in your work."

John's internal clock told him Ronon and the others wouldn't be returning for at least another twenty minutes. Stalling for time, then. "Who is your employer?"

"I think you know."

"Really?" John put on his most innocent expression. "I don't remember seeing you around Bridge when I've been there."

"Don't play dumb with us, Sheppard," the stocky man growled. "You've been sending false findings for the past three months. We're here for the real designs."

"I have no idea what you mean."

John saw the instant the tall man had had enough. When he lunged, John ducked under the Rearwin's wing and darted around the plane. The short one was faster than he looked. His fist smashed into John's jaw, felling him instantly. John shook the stars from his vision and rolled under the plane. The tall man gave chase, launching himself at John and connecting with the back of his legs. John tried to scramble away, but the man held tight until the stocky guy jerked John to his feet and shoved him backward.

The tall man caught John, pinning his arms to his sides. Air whooshed from his lungs as the first strike connected with his stomach. John curled inward until a blow to the chin snapped his head back. The tall man's grip was iron, and John sagged as his vision grayed. He grunted at the vicious punch to his ribcage and another fist to the temple. John struggled, kicked, cursed vehemently as the blows rained down, but the two men each outweighed him by fifty pounds and were at least ten years younger.

Fingers dug cruelly into his jaw. "Where are the designs?"

John blinked woozily and spit blood in the man's face. The stocky guy snarled and smashed his fist into John's nose. Cartilage crunched, and pain radiated in every direction. John's knees buckled as blood dribbled down his face. The man shouted at him, but he couldn't hear anything over the roar in his ears.

Suddenly, the room slid sideways as a mountain collided with them. Stunned, John lay gasping as flesh smacked flesh nearby and voices shouted. Small hands touched his back and he turned, squinting up into Teyla's worried face.

"John, can you hear me?"

"Yeah." He let her guide him into a sitting position. "What happened?"

"Two men-"

"I know that part. You're early."

She smiled grimly. "Ronon was concerned."

John followed her gaze. The stocky man lay in a crumpled heap while Ronon tossed the other man to the ground and slugged him. John struggled to his feet and staggered over, catching Ronon's arm as he drew his fist back again. "Enough."

Ronon jerked away and whirled, his eyes shooting fire until he focused on John. Concern replaced fury. "You okay?" Ronon asked softly.

John dabbed at the blood on his face. "I'll be fine. Did you get everything?"

"He made me leave behind all my textbooks," McKay announced, his voice wavering slightly. "I mean, how am I supposed to finish my work without reference materials? He threatened-"

"Rodney," John said gently, "we'll buy you some more books when we get there."

"Where are we going?" Teyla asked.

John glanced at the two unconscious men. "Anywhere but here. McKay, load the rest of our luggage. Ronon, I topped off the liquids, but I'd appreciate it if you'd check the engines."

They hurried away, and Teyla helped John to his washroom. He winced at the sight in the mirror. Cut, bruised, and bedraggled, he was a far cry from the boy his mother had been so proud of. Teyla dipped a towel in water and washed the blood away. He leaned against the sink and let her, too tired to do anything but stand.

"Will you be able to fly?" she asked.

John chuckled. "Getting knocked around a little isn't enough to keep me from flying. I'll be fine."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I have some money, a plane, and open sky. That's as far as I've gotten."

"So we have no place to go?"

He splashed a little water on his face then took the towel from her and dabbed gingerly at the worst cuts. "It's a big country, Teyla." He dropped the cloth on the counter and turned to her. "Do you think anybody out there can use a broken down pilot, a mechanic with an attitude, a socially ill-equipped scientist and a lady reporter?"

Teyla laughed. "I am certain of it." As they walked through the hangar, she trailed a hand along the wing of the Ryan. "Aircraft are wondrous machines."

"Yes, they are," John agreed. "In the right hands."

McKay and Ronon were waiting for them at the hangar door, and John didn't look back as they strode together to the plane. He offered Teyla a hand into the cabin and smiled as the Fairchild logo on the step gleamed in the sunlight. He loved that logo.

John climbed in and got settled. Ronon nodded to let him know the engine had already been turned over so he pumped the primer and the engines fired to life. Waiting for them to warm, he pulled out his map and traced a few flight patterns on it.

"Where are we going?" McKay asked.

"I was thinking Nashville," John replied.

"Nashville? What's in Nashville?"

"I don't know, Rodney. I've never been there."

"Nor have I," Teyla said.

Ronon smiled. "Sounds good to me."

"It's temporary. If we get tired of it, or if the bad guys miraculously find us, we'll go somewhere else. I'll even let you choose where." John nudged Rodney's shoulder. "What do you say?"

"Fine," McKay sighed. "Let's go."

John slid on his aviator sunglasses and taxied to the airfield's longest runway. The engines roared and the nose lifted easily. He climbed to cruising altitude and set his course.

As the plane banked, the afternoon sun glinted off the logo again – Pegasus, his wings spread in flight. Together they soared into a brilliant blue sky and a new future.

* * *

_Written for the sgagenficathon in the AU genre for the prompt: Those Magnificent Men and Their Flying Machines. Thanks to my fabulous betas kristen999 and friendshipper. Oh, and that logo is not made up. That's a real aircraft and their actual logo. Cool, no?_


	21. Exhausted

_A/N: Vague reference to The Lost Tribe/First Contact, but no real spoilers._

**Exhausted**

**Day One**

"Tell Teyla I will be back before the Tendol Feast," Woolsey said. "The meetings with the IOA shouldn't go long."

"That's what Sam said," McKay muttered.

John cleared his throat loudly as he dug an elbow in Rodney's ribs. "Have a good trip. Give my regards to the committee."

Woolsey's mouth quirked upward. "I'm sure you mean that in the best possible way, Colonel. I'd tell you not to blow up the city while I'm gone, but that didn't work out very well last time, so…try to keep the damage to a minimum."

"I'll do my best." John valiantly ignored McKay's snickering. He waved as Woolsey stepped through the gate and waited until the wormhole disengaged before rounding on his supposed friend. "Don't you have work to do?"

McKay gave a smug smile and bounced on his toes. "I'm running shield diagnostics as we speak."

"Anything wrong?"

"No, no. In fact, it's been so quiet lately that I'm nervous." McKay's grin faded. "We're never this lucky. Might as well make sure everything is functioning properly before the other shoe drops."

"Ah, there's that McKay optimism." John shook his head as he headed toward his office. "See you at lunch."

John stepped over the box of office supplies and skirted the ever growing pile of knick-knacks from trading partners to plop into the most uncomfortable desk chair in two galaxies. He opened the window – it only took him two years to find that toggle – and breathed in crisp ocean air while his laptop booted. God, he loved this place.

His jaw dropped when he opened his email. "Ninety-eight messages? How can that be?"

The mystery was revealed when he spotted an urgent notice from Woolsey, notifying the base that all correspondence was to go to John while he was gone. Apparently, the science department had taken it to heart. John was copied on every single project update, request for funding, and personnel issue. Heaving a sigh, he scrolled to the bottom and began to plow through them.

John was up to email sixty-two – not counting the forty-six that he'd received since he started – when the call came.

"_Colonel Sheppard to the control room_."

He was out the door before Chuck could finish. The pinched faces in Ops proclaimed the seriousness of the situation. John raced up the steps. "What's happened?"

"We've got systems shutting down all over the place," McKay said. "Bulkheads are slamming down sporadically. Electricity is flickering in the east and northwest sectors. Sanitation is completely out. The gate's down, and-"

"Shields and sensors?"

"Shields are still off-line, but that's hopefully because of the diagnostics. Long range sensors are operating at the moment but internal sensors aren't. And," McKay held up a hand, "before you ask – no, I don't know what's wrong."

Sweat trickled down John's back. "Environmental controls?"

"Working everywhere but the main tower," Chuck answered. "Doctor Keller reports the infirmary has no power at all." His lips pressed tight. "She was in the middle of surgery."

"Call Renfro and get the portable lights and generator up there now," John ordered. "Rodney…"

"I know. I'm working on it."

"What can I do?"

McKay glanced at him, fingers still flying. "Hope the Wraith don't show up."

**Day Two**

John flopped on the bed with a groan. He should take a shower. Hell, he should at least take his boots off, but he had used his last ounce of energy walking from the transporter to his quarters. Twelve hours of system glitches had resulted in seventeen people injured, one seriously, and an all-nighter by the primary Ops staff to make sure the virus planted by Elizabeth's Replicator friend, Koracen, was wiped completely.

But sleep was elusive. The image of Elizabeth stepping through the gate that last time had painted itself on the inside of his eyelids. He and Rodney had spent days trying to figure out a way to bring her back, even though she had made them promise not to, but short of building a human body for her, they couldn't help her. John was holding out hope that they would eventually find one of Michael's cloning labs.

After tossing and turning for a couple of hours, John dragged himself to the shower then to the mess hall. Pre-dawn glow lit the horizon. He grabbed a large mug of coffee and a slice of toast then propped his feet on the railing to watch the sun rise.

"May we join you?"

John jerked at Teyla's voice. "Oh, hey. Sure, have a seat."

Teyla dropped in the chair with a sigh as Torren whined in her arms. "He is teething."

"Ah. Won't go to sleep?"

She shook her head. "I understand the stargate is working again. I would like to take him to Athos for the day."

"Athos?" John sat up. "Really?"

"Yes. It is still too scorched to be livable, but some of the deep forest remains. Many of the plants have medicinal value."

John smiled knowingly. "And it would be nice to have a day away."

Teyla flushed. "That, too. If you need me, Kanaan can-"

"Go. Enjoy your day."

"Thank you, John." She curled her fingers around his and squeezed. "You should get some rest, too."

"I will."

He yawned and stretched as fatigue tugged at him. Maybe he could catch a quick nap before morning staff meeting.

"_Colonel Sheppard to the control room_."

Or not.

**Day Three**

A squawking radio yanked him out of another nightmare. Two whole hours of sleep. Great. He blew out a couple of breaths, trying to calm his thundering heart, and reached for the device with a shaky hand.

"This is Sheppard."

"_Sorry to wake you, Sir. Captain Diega's team is an hour overdue, and we can't raise them_."

"I'll be right there."

John stumbled out of bed, hopping on one foot while the other tangled with the sweat-soaked sheets. Kicking free, he splashed cold water on his face, raked his fingers through his hair, and dressed quickly. He was half-way to the transporter when he realized he'd left his earpiece and sidearm in his room. By the time he retrieved them and reached the control room, McKay was pacing in a tight circle and draining a huge cup of coffee.

"Rodney, why are you here?"

McKay squared his shoulders defiantly then he slumped as the fight drained from him. "Zelenka's with them."

"Damn it." John turned to the gate tech. "What do we know?"

"Not much, Sir. They were on M8H-445 helping rebuild a village after a flood. They missed their check-in."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing away the pounding behind his eyes. "Who's on standby?"

"Lieutenant Nmefu's team."

"Tell them to gear up. They leave in ten minutes. And get a MALP ready."

"Yes, Sir."

"Here." McKay handed him some coffee. "You look like you need it."

"Takes one to know one." John gulped the hot liquid, groaning as the caffeine hit his system. Two hours of sleep in forty-eight hours was doing a number on him. "Thanks."

"You should get some sleep."

"I've been trying. Why is it all the bad stuff happens during the nightshift while I'm in charge?"

McKay shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

When the MALP rolled into the gateroom, followed by Nmefu and her team, the tech dialed the planet. Moments later, the video feed coalesced. As the camera panned upward, the scene shifted from huge mud puddles to a spectacular lightning show that accompanied a torrential downpour.

"The village is gone again," McKay whispered. "There should be huts everywhere."

The feed wobbled then slid sideways. "What the hell?" John gaped as the scene flipped upside down.

"Looks like the wind is blowing the MALP." The tech manipulated the controls. "I can't get it upright."

"Shit. Shut it down."

"What?" McKay exclaimed. "You can't leave them out there."

"You know how heavy a MALP is. That has to be hurricane force winds. I'm not risking the lives of another team."

"Then take a jumper."

John sighed. "Not even I could fly in that."

"But-"

"McKay."

"Fine." Rodney stalked over to the DHD. "Move." When the tech scurried out of his way, McKay slid into the chair. "I'm dialing every hour on the hour."

"Exactly."

Seven hours later, the bit of camera not covered in mud showed clearing skies. Nmefu's team went through then called back for a medical team. John spent the afternoon and evening coordinating a rescue for survivors trapped in debris. Zelenka and Diega's team, bedraggled and waterlogged but alive, were carted to the infirmary while the remaining villagers were welcomed by Teyla and escorted to New Athos.

By the time everyone was settled, John had drunk so much coffee that he didn't bother trying to sleep. He trudged to his office and read his email. All six hundred and seventy-one of them.

**Day Four**

"Where is he?"

"Ronon is fine, Colonel," Biro said. "Just a few bruises and bumps."

"I want to see him." The vice squeezing John's head tightened when she didn't move. "Now!" he snapped.

Biro backed up a step, blinking in surprise. "Of course. This way."

His eyes were so gritty he suspected someone had put sandpaper behind his lids and the hollow ache in his middle throbbed in time with his pounding pulse. He shoved trembling hands in his pockets and followed Biro to the exam area. Ronon sat on the side of the bed, staring fiercely at an unimpressed nurse as she wrapped a bandage around his bicep. A welt near his temple was the center of a massive bruise that reached his chin, and small cuts extended down his throat to his chest.

Ronon grimaced when he spotted John. "They shouldn't have called you. I-"

"What the hell were you thinking?" John hissed.

The nurse froze then rapidly tied the bandage and hustled out.

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "When was the last time you slept?"

John's mind wandered back to the urgent call about Diega's team, but his fuzzy mind couldn't calculate the hours. "This isn't about me. What did you think you were doing?"

"How'd you know I was here?"

"I heard the call on the radio in my office. Now, stop avoiding the question."

Ronon shrugged. "I was bored."

"So you thought prowling around in the damaged sections of the city in the middle of the damn night was a good idea?" John strode a few steps then whirled. "Damn it, Ronon, I don't need this right now, least of all from you."

Ronon contemplated him for a minute then hopped off the bed and stepped close. "You need some sleep."

John's cheeks burned. "And you need to act a little more responsibly."

"You done?"

"Yes."

Ronon walked away, stopping at the doorway. "Get some sleep, Sheppard."

John stared after him, certain that he was missing something. Ronon was right; he needed sleep. His mind was sluggish, too sluggish to be anything but a hindrance. The caffeine high had worn off, and his energy reserves were depleted. Maybe some breakfast and a shower would relax him enough for sleep to come.

"Colonel?"

John turned, unable to place the meek voice. A small woman in science garb gave him a tremulous smile. Her arm was in a cast and she was going to have one hell of a shiner in a few hours.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." She blushed a brilliant red. "Sir, Ronon wasn't in the damaged section. I was. I got trapped when some debris shifted, and he was in Ops when I called. He got hurt saving me."

John felt gut-punched. Why hadn't he given Ronon the benefit of the doubt? He should have known better. "What were you doing there?"

The blush deepened to scarlet. "I, uh, I'd rather not say."

John braced against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He'd have to apologize to Ronon and deal with this woman later.

"_Colonel Sheppard, the delegation from Droxia has arrived_."

Much later.

**Day Five**

The heaves finally subsided, and John pressed his forehead to the cool tile floor then slowly collapsed on his side when his arms and legs refused to hold him up any longer. The Droxian food had been luscious but the headache he'd been nursing since Woolsey left had turned into a full-blown migraine during hour eight of negotiations. A crash of thunder had woken him and the blinding strikes of lightning had ratcheted up the pain until his stomach rebelled and drove him to this undignified position in his bathroom.

"_Colonel Sheppard to the control room_."

"Oh, hell no," John muttered.

"_Colonel Sheppard, please respond_."

His body begged for sleep.

"_Colonel Sheppard?_"

Nothing was getting him off that floor.

"_Sheppard!_" McKay came on. "_Long range sensors show a hive approaching._"

Except that.

John crawled to the nightstand and swatted until the radio fell into his hands. "How long 'til they get here?"

"_Sheppard? Is that you?_"

"Of course it's me, Rodney. How long?"

"_You sound terrible._"

John counted to five. "How. Long."

"_Two weeks, three tops_."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

John pushed to his feet and staggered back into the bathroom. He barely recognized the man in the mirror – bags under his eyes, deep grooves in his forehead, skin almost gray, bloodshot eyes and hollow cheeks. He'd taken command of Atlantis before, had dealt with impossible situations, but this series of minor incidents were turning into a perfect storm that made the Wraith siege seem mild.

He tugged on a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans and shuffled to the transporter. Thunder rattled the stained glass of the gateroom atrium as he made his way to Ops. Radek hunched over his computer while Chuck and the other techs focused on their workstations. McKay, Ronon, and Teyla huddled near a monitor, studying the sensor data and talking quietly. John smiled, appreciating the efficiency and professionalism of his people. They were the best at what they did. He trusted them.

They could handle this.

"McKay, tell me what you know."

Rodney turned. "That would take years… What the hell happened to you?"

John always knew exactly where he stood with McKay. "I'm not feeling good."

"Thought I told you to get some sleep," Ronon said.

"So you did." John leaned against a console as the room wavered, hoping to look nonchalant. "And I'm going to as soon as Rodney gives me an update."

McKay moved so John could see the display. "These two are hive ships, and we think this one might be a Travelers ship. It looks like it's shadowing the hives."

"Any IDs?"

"For the Travelers, no. One of the hives might be Todd's. The other one…" McKay shrugged.

Lightning flashed, and John's stomach roiled. "Okay. Backtrack them to see if we can determine where they came from." He gripped the console and swallowed thickly. "Ronon, get with Lorne and develop a preliminary defensive strategy. Rodney, make sure the shield and the control chair are in optimum condition. Teyla, see if you can keep the rest of these people from killing each other for the next few hours. I'm going to my quarters."

McKay's jaw dropped. "You're leaving?"

"Are the Wraith arriving in the next twelve hours?"

"Well, no."

"Then, yes, I'm leaving. If anything changes drastically, wake me."

"Nothing will be that drastic," Teyla promised. "Will it, Rodney?"

"Um, no?"

John huffed a laugh. "Thanks, guys. Ronon, walk with me a minute."

Ronon followed him to the transporter then down the corridor toward his room. John trailed a hand on the wall to keep his balance, getting a bit of tunnel vision as he neared his hallway and stumbling over a chair.

"Sheppard?"

"I'm okay." John dashed at the sweat on his upper lip with the back of his hand. "Almost there."

John concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and prayed his legs would hold out until he got out of public view. When the door finally slid open, he headed straight for his bed and collapsed on it then tossed an arm over his eyes.

"Could you do me a favor, big guy? I need something to cover the windows. The lightning is killing me."

"Sure."

A few grunts and a couple of screeches later, the room darkened. John let his arm fall and squinted at Ronon's barely visible silhouette. "Thanks."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah. No, one more thing. Why didn't you tell me what really happened when you got hurt?"

"Didn't matter."

"It mattered to me, Ronon." John pushed up on an elbow. "You should have told me."

"You needed to let off a little steam." Ronon's shadow moved toward the door. "Better me than someone who wouldn't know you didn't mean it."

"I'm sorry. I-"

"John, go to sleep before I have to stun you."

He could practically see the wide grin on Ronon's face. "You enjoy that way too much."

Ronon's laugh rumbled with the thunder. "Never gets old."

John rolled on his side when the door slid shut. Rain pattered against his window, its steady rhythm soothing frazzled nerves. He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

_Written for coolbreeze who wanted exhausted John. As always, thanks to kristen999 for the beta._


	22. A Private Conversation

_A/N: Spoilers for The Kindred II, Ghost in the Machine, and Whispers with a vague reference to Broken Ties._

**A Private Conversation**

Carson pulled John's arm tighter across his shoulders and clutched the man's belt in a death grip as he stumbled through the tangles of brambles and scrub. John's head lolled forward, the dried blood creating rusty streaks from the gash near his hairline to his jaw. Sweat soaked Carson's shirt and trickled into his eyes, blurring the desolate landscape. Nothing but rock and husks of vegetation extending to the horizon.

Shale wobbled under his boot, and he fell, twisting quickly to absorb as much of John's impact as he could. Carson bit back a curse when John's full weight landed on him and sharp stones dug into his spine. He rolled John onto his back then flopped down with a sigh. Of all days for Ronon to be off.

John moaned, his lids slowly lifting. He mumbled something unintelligible then promptly passed out again.

Carson patted his shoulder. "I understand completely."

He took a sip of water then dribbled a little on John's lips. The afternoon sun was waning a bit, but the humidity was thick enough to cut with a knife. How a place this barren could have that much moisture in the air was a mystery to him. He'd have to ask Rodney when he got back.

Carson mopped the sweat off his face, tied his overshirt around his head, and pulled an antiseptic wipe from a pocket. He was cleansing John's wound when he stirred again.

Confused eyes that couldn't focus stared up at him. "Carson?"

"Easy, son. Don't move about too much. I know your head must feel like it's split wide open." He washed the crusted blood off John's face and gently applied a butterfly bandage. "Do you know your name?"

"John Sheppard."

"Do you know where we are?"

John's eyes shifted a bit. "Afghanistan?"

"Not quite. What day is it?"

"Meat loaf day."

Carson chuckled. "That's cheating. Every day is meat loaf day."

John tried to push upright then dropped with a moan. "What happened?"

Carson wrapped an arm around John's back and tugged him up enough to lean against a nearby boulder. "Take a few sips of this," he handed over his canteen, "slowly! – and I'll tell you."

John's hands shook but he lifted the container to his lips obediently.

"We were exploring one of Michael's labs when something – a quake or a booby trap – set off a rock slide."

"My team?"

Carson smiled. Some things never changed. "Teyla has gone for help. Ronon and Rodney aren't here."

Alarm sharpened John's eyes. "Where-"

"Ronon had that Satedan warrior thing today in honor of Tyre, and Rodney has the flu."

"Right," John scoffed. "The flu he suddenly developed when he heard how hot it was going to be here."

Carson caught about every other slurred word. "That's entirely possible, but he was feverish and shivering so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. This time."

John laughed softly then squinted up at him. "Where are we?"

"M6P-737. A giant hunk of rock with no redeeming qualities that I could find."

"Then why are we here?"

Carson sighed. Concussions wreaked such havoc. "Michael had a lab here," he repeated.

"A lab?" John pushed up then rolled over and tried to stand. "We need to check it out." His knees buckled and he slid sideways. "Help me!"

Carson scrambled to his side. "What are you doing? You are in no shape to go back there. We barely escaped last time."

John clutched Carson's shoulder and attempted to pull himself up. "Escaped?"

Carson grabbed John's arms. "Stop. Now." When John slumped in his grip, Carson helped him back to the boulder. "Yes, escaped. Apparently the natives thought we damaged the lab on purpose. Michael built it inside some kind of sacred relic and when the rockslide destroyed it-"

John paled. "The lab is gone?"

"It's under ten tons of rock." Carson frowned at John's hiss. "What is it, lad?"

"Was it a cloning facility?"

"I don't know. Why?"

John shook his head. "Nothing. It's stupid." He blinked woozily at Carson as his head began to bob toward his chest.

"Stay with me." Carson patted John's cheek. "Come on, son. I need you to stay awake in case those folks come for us again."

John peered at him through half-raised lids. "What folks? Where are we?"

Carson explained again while he surreptitiously checked John's vitals. The man's pulse leapt when Carson mentioned the lab.

"We have to go back," John insisted.

Carson held his shoulders. "You know that we can't."

"But…" John clenched his eyes shut and blew out a shaky breath. "Did we save any of the data?"

"We barely got in the door."

John sagged back, a wild mix of emotions flitting over his face. Carson hesitated to question him, knowing John was not as in control of his thoughts and emotions as he usually was, but the man's fixation on the lab troubled him. He decided not to push.

"Maybe we can come back with jumpers, salvage something," John muttered. "The combat engineers might be able to rig up something."

So much for not pushing. "What is it about the lab that concerns you?"

The stoic mask John usually wore had disappeared when that rock smacked the side of his head, but Carson still sucked in a surprised breath at the grief on his face. "Thought we could fix Elizabeth."

Carson's mind reeled at the statement. "What?" he finally stammered.

John's gaze drifted as his head dropped back. "She needs a human body."

Carson sat back, trying to put the pieces together. "And you thought we could make her one in Michael's lab?"

"He made you."

Carson flinched at the words. Sometimes, when he first woke, he forgot that this wasn't really his life, that the memories he had actually belonged to a dead man. The life he'd made helping the peoples of Pegasus had fulfilled him in a way he hadn't thought possible, and most days he was content to put the past behind him and focus on the future. He really hoped John wouldn't remember saying that.

"It was the only good thing Michael ever did," John continued, his voice slurred and eyes unfocused. Carson doubted he knew he was speaking out loud. "If we could figure out how he did it, we could make a body for Elizabeth. Then everything would be right again."

"John, listen to me." He tapped John's cheek until their eyes met.

"Carson? Where did you come from?" John blinked rapidly and looked around in confusion. "Where are we?"

Carson ran through the explanation again, ready this time when John's eyes went wide at the mention of the lab.

"We need-"

"We can't go back," Carson interrupted. "Besides, Michael's science is so far beyond me that I don't think I could learn it in my lifetime. Even if I had a sample of Elizabeth's DNA and understood how Michael's cloning process worked, I wouldn't have a clue as to how to access her memories and personality the way Michael did for me. And I certainly don't know how to download them from her Replicator body. Do you understand?"

John's brows drew together and he pulled away. "Yeah."

"I know it's hard to let go, son."

The emotional distance widened as John leaned his head back and stared at the sky. Carson waited, torn between wanting to know what this was really about and respecting John's privacy. When the silence stretched, Carson turned away and began cataloguing the supplies in his vest, making mental notes on what to bring next time.

"I left her behind."

Carson froze. The words were mumbled, slurred, like they were out of a dream. He kept his back to John. "No, you didn't. You obeyed an order."

"How do you know?"

Carson wondered if John comprehended that he was having a conversation. "Ronon told me. He can be quite chatty when he wants."

"I should've done something." It was more of a sigh than a statement.

Carson glanced over his shoulder. John's eyes were closed. "I know I'm missing that last year with her, but I knew her for a long time before we left Earth. What made Elizabeth such an effective leader was that it was never about her. She always put the mission and the city ahead of herself." He turned to face John. "If you had tried to save her, what would have happened?"

John's lids fluttered then shut again. "Would've been caught. Still-"

"There is no 'still,'" Carson insisted. "You would have been caught, Atlantis would have crashed, hundreds of people would have died. Elizabeth sacrificed herself to save all those people. To save me."

"You?" John murmured.

"I know she didn't realize it, but, yes, me. If you had died, who would have rescued me from Michael? Who would have stopped him from destroying this galaxy?"

John took a shuddering breath. "Still feels wrong."

"I know it does, lad, because that's the kind of man you are."

John huffed a laugh. "I told her she wasn't really Elizabeth Weir. The last thing I ever said to her. How could I…" He shook his head, his gaze drifting somewhere behind Carson. "The look on her face, when she walked through the gate. Into space." John's voice had flattened into a monotone. "And I let her do it." He sighed. "I just stood there and watched."

Nothing Carson said was going to assuage that kind of guilt, but he'd try anyway. "Do you know what I see when I look in the mirror every day?" He waited until John blinked away the trance and looked at him. "I see a man who helped Michael murder thousands of people."

John pushed upright, his awareness sharpening "Carson-"

"It's the truth. I never intended to kill them. I told myself that if I kept working at it, I could perfect the serum so that nobody died. If I didn't help Michael, he'd kill the people he'd captured." Carson swallowed thickly as the memories flooded his mind. "No matter what I did, someone was going to die."

"Yeah," John said softly.

"Having Replicators on Atlantis put the city at risk. Elizabeth knew that. One man died and the city was almost destroyed. You allowed Elizabeth to save Atlantis. You trusted her to do it, to walk through and lure the others. That must have meant so much to her."

"Maybe." John didn't sound convinced.

"You would give your life for Atlantis if necessary, right?" When John nodded, Carson continued, "So would the rest of us. Elizabeth made a choice. Stop trying to take credit for it."

Something shifted in John's expression, and his eyes lightened as he gave a wan smile. "I'll try."

"Good." Carson's stomach growled and he pulled a power bar from his vest pocket. "Hungry?"

John grimaced. "No." He settled against the boulder and blinked wearily. "Where are we?"

Carson chuckled and repeated the story, leaving out the lab this time.

"Exploring a useless hunk of rock." John's brows arched. "Whose idea was that?"

"Yours, actually. This will make more sense when we get back and get you treated. For now, all I can do is keep you hydrated."

"Thanks." John perked up a little as he drank from the canteen Carson offered. "How's Porter?"

Carson choked on a bite of power bar. "What?"

"Come on, Doc, I know she's been helping you."

The burn raced up his neck to the tips of his ears. "She's fine. Lovely girl. Very smart."

John smirked at him. "Yep, that's what I thought."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

Carson tugged at his shirt collar. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Chicken."

"Am not."

John groaned. "Don't start that. I get enough practice with McKay."

"I really don't have much time."

"If _Rodney_ can make time…"

Carson grinned. "Speaking of Rodney, how is-"

"No changing the subject."

"What about you, Colonel. Who are you seeing?"

John flushed a rosy shade of pink. "No one."

Carson's jaw dropped. "You lie worse than Rodney."

"I do not."

"Tell me."

John squinted at his watch. "How long has Teyla been gone?"

"You are going to be in the infirmary for at least two days. You might as well tell me now."

"I think my headache's getting worse."

"Nice try, but…" Carson trailed off as the wind roared around them and a jumper coalesced overhead.

John closed his eyes. "Saved by the jumper," he muttered.

Carson chuckled as the ship landed and a med team hurried toward them. The jumper had only delayed the inevitable. He'd get John examined and settled first. Then he'd pry the information out of him.

After all, Carson needed something to talk about when he woke John every few hours. The man would cave. They all did, eventually.

* * *

_Written for tridget who wanted to see a moment between John and Carson. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta._


	23. Unwritten Rules

_A/N: Some gratuitous Shep whump. No spoilers._

**Unwritten Rules**

In retrospect, the euphoria should have been his first clue something was horribly wrong because, seriously, when they were off-world Sheppard was a lot of things – irritating, brave to a fault, a general pain in the ass – but never giddy. What started as a beatific smile and a comment on the weather quickly morphed into a case of the giggles over one of Ronon's inane insults, but Rodney had been too enraptured with the massive power readings to pay much attention.

Then Sheppard had pronounced it a beautiful day for a swim, casually handed over his P-90, and dived headfirst into a nearby body of water – tac vest, uniform, handgun and all. When Ronon pulled him out, soaking wet and shivering, Sheppard grinned manically and shoved him into the water.

None of them had noticed the fiery red bite on Sheppard's arm, too busy trying to corral the elusive crazy man who thought a game of hide and seek sounded fun. Sheppard had run – sprinted really – toward a canyon filled with rocky outcroppings and a series of caves. They gave chase, with Ronon and Teyla quickly outdistancing Rodney. When he caught up to them, they were gasping for breath and staring at a barren landscape with no Sheppard in sight.

"What the hell is his problem?" Rodney demanded.

"Don't know." Ronon tied his dreadlocks back and wiped sweat from his eyes. "But something's wrong."

"We should not waste time discussing it," Teyla said. "Can you locate him with the life signs detector?"

"As long as there isn't any interference and he's in range." Rodney pulled the LSD from a pocket. "Of course-"

"Now, McKay," Ronon growled.

"Fine. No need to get… There. He's about fifty meters that way." Rodney waved toward an archway of stone. "He's not moving."

Ronon nodded. "Let's go."

Rodney stumbled over rocks and narrowly avoided a nasty patch of briars on his way down. The Sheppard dot on the LSD stayed still until they passed through the stone archway. Then it bobbed a bit and moved off in a drunken zigzag.

"John, wait!" Teyla called. "We wish to help you."

Rocks clattered and a hoarse cry of pain echoed off the ruddy sandstone. Ronon took off like a shot with Teyla, leaving Rodney to scramble after them. He passed by a large boulder and froze when cold metal jammed into the base of his skull.

Heart in his throat, Rodney cautiously raised his hands. "It's me, Sheppard. It's Rodney. Your good buddy Rodney. Please don't kill me. I know you aren't feeling too good at the moment, but, you know, we can fix that. Just take it easy."

"Shut up," Sheppard hissed. "Where are the other two?"

"I don't know." Rodney took a deep breath and turned slowly. "Oh, God."

Sheppard's skin was gray and slicked with sweat. The arm that held the handgun was swollen, and a bite mark near his elbow was yellow and oozing.

"John, please. Put the gun down. I'm not going to hurt you."

Sheppard blinked in confusion. "Rodney?"

"Yeah, it's me." Rodney took a step forward and held out his hand. "Give me the gun."

"You look funny."

"You always say that."

Sheppard wiped his eyes, but the gun didn't waver. "Funnier than usual. Kinda shimmery."

"Well, that's new." Rodney concentrated on keeping his features still as Ronon crept up behind Sheppard.

Sheppard's arm dropped, the gun sliding from his fingers. "I don't feel so good." His eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled.

Ronon caught him before he hit the ground. "He's burning up."

"Where's Teyla?"

"Calling for help." Ronon lifted Sheppard like a child. "Come on."

They wound their way back to the canyon entrance and headed toward the stargate. Teyla met them halfway, her face pulling into a frown when she examined the bite on Sheppard's arm.

"You recognize it?" Ronon asked.

"Yes. It is the sting of a _pameca_. He could die without proper treatment."

Rodney gaped at her. "Die? From a bug bite?"

"The _pameca_ is one of the most poisonous insects in our galaxy. The treatment is a simple remedy that neutralizes the poison, but without it, his temperature will rise to fatal levels."

Rodney looked up when the stargate activated and a jumper appeared. "How long does he have?"

"A day, perhaps two," Teyla answered.

Ronon headed toward the lowering ramp. "Can you make the remedy?"

"With the proper roots, yes." She stepped back. "Go. I will gather what I need and return as quickly as I can."

Ronon hurried inside and laid Sheppard on a rear bench. "Where do you need to go?"

"I will start with Athos," Teyla replied.

Ronon squeezed Sheppard's arm then moved out of the med team's way and turned to Rodney. "We'll be back soon."

"What?" Rodney paused at the hatch entrance as Ronon bounded down. "Where are you going?"

"I can't help Sheppard," Ronon said, "but I can help Teyla get what she needs to help him."

Rodney nodded and stepped back as the hatch closed and the jumper lifted. He recited Teyla's explanation to the med team and averted his eyes when they started poking needles in Sheppard's arms and hands. The flight back was quick and the gurney race through the hallways tense.

When they got to the infirmary, Sheppard was immediately surrounded by doctors and nurses. Jennifer barked orders that Rodney couldn't hear over the blood roaring in his ears. He stuffed himself in an out-of-the-way corner and folded his arms over his chest, partly to dare anyone to try to make him leave and partly to force himself to stay. He'd been here too many times – watching as Jennifer or Carson or Cole or Biro or some other nameless physician struggled to keep one of his teammates alive – but somehow it never got any easier. He was the only one here this time, and he wasn't leaving Sheppard alone. He trusted the Atlantis doctors more than any he'd ever met, but never leaving an injured teammate alone in the infirmary was an unwritten team rule. One he refused to break.

After a few minutes, the chaos calmed and Jennifer stepped over. "We're analyzing his blood to determine the toxin in it. Hopefully we'll know something soon."

"How is he?"

She shook her head. "We've got cooling blankets and ice packs on him, but his temperature is really high. I need the blood tests before I try any antidotes so I don't make things worse."

"Teyla thinks she can help."

"Marie told me. I hope she finds what she needs quickly." Jennifer narrowed her eyes at him. "Has anyone done your post-mission check?"

"I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked."

Rodney's chin lifted defiantly. "I…" His shoulders sagged. "I don't want to leave him."

Jennifer patted his arm. "Don't worry. You don't have to. I'll have Marie take some blood and we'll check you with the portable scanner."

Half an hour later, he was pronounced as healthy as ever. He would've argued, pointing out the cramps in his lower back, the knots in his calves, and the alien pollen that he was certain was giving him a rash, but one look at Sheppard and the words dried up in his throat.

Sheppard's arm was swollen to twice its normal size, and his skin managed to be sallow and flushed at the same time, but the rapid, raspy breathing concerned Rodney the most. He pulled a chair near and patted Sheppard's good arm awkwardly, flinching from the heat emanating from him in waves.

"Hang in there, Sheppard. Teyla will be here soon with the remedy, and you'll be back to your annoying self in no time."

Two hours later the convulsions started.

"Oh, oh no you don't." Rodney tossed his laptop to the floor and fumbled for the call button. "Help!" He grabbed Sheppard's arms to keep him from ripping the IVs out. "Help me!"

Medical personnel raced in from every direction. Rodney stumbled backward until he hit the far wall then dragged himself to a sofa and dropped onto it when his legs wouldn't hold him up anymore. He was still sitting there, staring at the privacy curtain, when Teyla and Ronon raced through the doors.

"Oh, no," Teyla gasped. "Are we too late?"

Rodney glanced up. "Oh, thank God. No, I don't think so, but he's pretty bad off." He turned to Ronon when Teyla hurried away with a foul-smelling bowl in her hands. "What the hell took you so long?"

Ronon sprawled next to him. "Couldn't find one of the roots she needed. Athos is…"

"Yeah, I remember. The Wraith made sure no one would live there again for a long time."

"Took three worlds before we found the right stuff." Ronon's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Then she had to make it."

"As long as it works."

"Sheppard's tough. He'll pull through." Ronon sounded confident.

The image of Sheppard convulsing played in Rodney's head. "I hope so." He stood when Teyla reappeared. "Well?"

She nodded wearily. "Jennifer is administering the remedy."

"How long before we know if it's working?" Ronon asked.

Teyla collapsed between them. "His temperature should begin to fall within an hour."

Ronon stretched his legs out. "I hate waiting."

"Me, too." Rodney laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Me, too."

But wait they did, through the afternoon and into the early evening. Eventually, the privacy curtain opened, and Jennifer emerged with a triumphant smile.

"His temperature is falling," she announced, "and his latest blood test shows the poison is being flushed from his system."

Teyla and Ronon leapt to their feet, but all Rodney could do was slump forward with his head in his hands as relief crashed through him.

"May we see him?" Teyla asked.

"He's sleeping, but you're welcome to sit with him," Jennifer answered. She sat down next to Rodney. "You okay?"

A thousand replies came to Rodney's mind, but the only one that came out of his mouth was, "You're sure he's going to make it?"

She squeezed his arm gently. "I'm positive."

Rodney smiled at her. "Then I'm fine. I think I'll, you know…" He waved a hand towards his teammates.

Jennifer nodded and headed back to her office. Rodney rubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe away the debilitating feeling of helplessness, then pushed to his feet and moved to Sheppard's bedside. His arm still looked hideous, but his color had returned to normal and his breathing was light and easy. Ronon had settled in the chair Rodney had been sitting in earlier and Teyla was perched on the foot of Sheppard's bed so Rodney dragged another chair over and dropped into it. His team had another unwritten rule – no one left until everyone was awake, no matter how long that took.

Rodney jerked upright in the early morning hours and peered around, searching for what had awakened him. Ronon's snores filled the room, but Rodney had gotten used to that years ago. Teyla was curled in a ball on the next bed over, sound asleep. With a mental shrug, Rodney leaned back then sat up quickly when he spotted Sheppard's eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"Hey," Sheppard murmured sleepily. "What happened?"

"You got stung by some poisonous insect and almost killed me," Rodney retorted. "What is it with you and bugs?"

Sheppard shuddered. "I hate bugs. What did you do to make me almost kill you?"

Rodney had a third unwritten rule –Sheppard was officially okay when the insults started flying. He folded his arms over his chest. "Me? What makes you think I did something?"

"Experience."

Rodney grinned. Sheppard was going to be fine.

* * *

_Written for the August sheppard hc flashfic challenge: poison or drugs._


	24. Puzzles

_A/N: Set after Enemy at the Gate._

**Puzzles**

"Colonel, we are approaching the system."

Sam set her data pad on the arm of the command chair and settled back. "Take us out of hyperspace." Her bones vibrated as the ship decelerated into normal space. "When we reach the planet, put us in a geosynchronous orbit over the beam down site."

"Yes, ma'am," the helmsman replied.

She took a sip of coffee and picked up the data pad, confident in her people's abilities to carry out her orders. Ferrying a stargate across the Pegasus Galaxy wasn't exactly the most exciting assignment, but it did give her crew the chance to gel in a relatively safe environment, and she got to catch up on her reading. She'd finished the SG-1 mission reports during the trip between galaxies, pleased to note that Captain Hailey was keeping Mitchell on his toes, and Richard had been kind enough to upload the Atlantis reports to the Hammond's Asgard core. Sam had downloaded the more colorful ones to her data pad.

"In orbit as ordered, Colonel."

"Thank you, Captain. Lieutenant, contact Doctor McKay, please."

Her comms officer nodded, already moving to comply. Moments later, he turned back to her. "I have Doctor McKay."

"On speaker, please."

Static hissed then McKay's voice filled the bridge. "_…told you to not touch anything. Did you actually earn your PhD or did you just find an extra one on the copier? I-_"

"Hello, Rodney," she called.

"_Sam? It's about time you got here. Did you bring the gate and the DHD?_"

"Damn. I knew I forgot something."

"_Tell me that you're joking_."

Sam grinned. "I'm totally joking. We actually stopped for pizza."

"_Really?_"

"Yes, but we ate it all already. Sorry."

"_Figures. Well, I don't have all day. You have the coordinates?_"

"Yes. Have the aftershocks stopped?"

"_Would I be here if they hadn't?_"

"Good point. Standby." Sam switched channels. "Cargo bay, are we ready for beam down?"

"_Affirmative, Colonel._"

"Then beam the gate and DHD to the specified coordinates."

"_Yes, ma'am._"

Sam toggled back to Rodney's channel. "McKay, we are commencing beam down."

"_Copy_," Rodney replied. "_Gate and DHD are here_."

"Have fun. Carter out."

The connection cut, and Sam stared out the viewport at the planet below, trying to imagine how the settlement had changed since she had last seen it. She turned back and caught the wide-eyed look of her comms officer.

"Something bothering you, Lieutenant."

"Is he always like that?"

"McKay? Actually, he's softened a lot in the past few years." Sam chuckled to herself, remembering their first encounter. "He…grows on you."

The lieutenant didn't look convinced as he turned back to his console. Sam picked up her coffee cup then set it back down, unable to shake the restlessness that had been growing inside her since they'd left Earth. Her crew might mutiny if she ran them through another battle simulation or training exercise. She needed a puzzle to solve, research to do, something to occupy her mind while they waited on McKay to get the gate working.

"Have you been here before, Colonel?" the helmsman asked.

"A couple of times. The Devikans are one of Atlantis's longest-standing trade partners. They grow a variety of produce, including a bean for a near-chocolate that's to die for."

"Did the quake destroy their crops?"

"I don't know. The rift swallowed their gate and about half the settlement, but I haven't heard about their fields." Sam drummed her fingers on her thigh, glancing between the viewport and her command chair. "I think I'll go find out. Inform Colonel Sheppard that I'm on my way."

She left the efficient bustle behind as she grabbed a radio and headed to the main transport area. Minutes later, she was standing in what used to be the center of town. The left side of the village was missing, not simply destroyed but completely gone. She grimaced when she peered over the edge of the gorge the quake had created. A landslide had buried everything that had fallen in; only the scraggly roots of a few trees poked through the tons of black soil. The right half of the village looked like piles of sticks scattered on top of square carpets of green. Toys, potted flowers, random articles of clothing, and shards of pottery were strewn in every direction.

"Colonel, good to have you planetside." John wiped a dirty hand over his face, smearing grime from his hairline to his cheek. "Such as it is."

"I haven't seen devastation like this in a while. Anything salvageable?"

John walked toward a circle of standard military tents where doctors weaved through dozens of cots. "Not really. I have a couple of teams going through the debris to recover what they can, but the village is a total loss."

Sam fell in step with him. "I'm glad we were still around when word of the lost contact reached Atlantis."

"Yeah, but they'd gone almost a week without any help before we got here." John's jaw tightened. "We're still pulling bodies out of the rubble, and we've got so many dead that we couldn't bury them all. Had to burn them."

She sucked in a breath. "How many?"

"Over a thousand." John scrubbed at his eyes. "That doesn't include the five thousand that are missing, swallowed up by the quake."

"God," Sam sighed. "And the rest want to stay?"

John nodded. "They think they can rebuild."

"You don't think so?"

"Actually, I do." He shook his head, a half-smile forming as he watched the villagers around him. "Never seen people as resilient as the ones in this galaxy."

"_Sheppard, this is McKay_."

John stopped and tapped his earpiece. "What's wrong, Rodney?"

"_Wrong? Who said anything was wrong? You've got to come see this._"

Sam hid a grin at Rodney's enthusiastic tone and John's long-suffering sigh.

"Are we in imminent danger?" John asked.

"_Um, no_."

"Are the Wraith coming?"

"_Not that I'm aware of_."

"Are you or anyone around you gushing blood?"

"_Don't be ridiculous_."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can this wait?"

"_Sure. I'll just sit here in the middle of all the Ancient technology until you can find time to-_"

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" John grinned at her as McKay spluttered in outrage. "We'll be right there. Sheppard out."

Sam laughed. "He's easy to wind up, isn't he?"

"Yep. Hours of entertainment right there." John headed in the direction of the gate.

"What Ancient tech?"

"No idea. We haven't spotted any before now."

"Maybe it was uncovered by the quake," Sam mused.

"Then it would be the only good thing to come of it." John paused when a young sergeant jogged toward them. "What is it, Brukowski?"

"Major Teldy needs you, sir. Seems there's a disagreement between two of the elders about crop ownership."

"Tell her I'll be right there." John blew out a breath as he stared up at the sky. "Don't suppose you brought Teyla with you."

Sam shook her head. "Sorry."

"Do you want to talk with-"

"Oh, no. They are all yours. I think I'll go see what McKay has found."

"Tell him not to blow up anything." John trudged back toward the tent city then turned. "Follow that path over the next ridge. Gate's over there."

"Why so far?"

"Give the people a chance to hide if the Wraith come."

"Right." Sam waved at him then hiked her way over the hill. When she reached the bottom, she spotted tracks amid the freshly churned dirt from the quake. Trees had been snapped in half and boulders the size of jumpers had shifted enough to reveal the outline of a door in the hillside that slid open when she drew near. She stepped in, squinting while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Rodney?"

"Sam?" a muffled voice called. The beam from a high-powered flashlight danced then Rodney's dusty face peeked over a console. "What are you doing here? Where's Sheppard?"

"There was an issue with the elders." Sam peered down at Rodney over the row of consoles that split the room. "I thought I'd keep you company until he could get away. Aren't you supposed to be setting up the gate?"

"Please," Rodney snorted. "I've already done the majority of the programming. Radek and the other minions-"

"Minions?"

"-are doing the testing. This is much more interesting."

"What have you found?"

Rodney crawled back under the panel he was working on. "I don't know yet. I'm still trying to get the power on." He clipped connectors from his tablet to various crystals in the array. "The power source registers on my scanner, somewhere back there." He gestured toward a rear door.

"Several of the crystals are burned out."

"Yes, yes, I noticed that. A few are cracked, too. That's why I'm testing them."

Recognizing that Rodney was working on the main control panel, Sam opened the crystal array on the next console and pulled out the intact ones. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk on the trip here from Atlantis. Are you glad to be back in Pegasus?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "It's good to be home."

She still marveled at this Rodney McKay – the one who would think of another galaxy as home, the one whose face softened when he talked about his team, the one who wouldn't leave you behind even if your leg was broken and his hands were shredded.

"Though we had some severely pissed off allies when we got back," he continued. "We're supposed to be the military arm of the Coalition, but it seems we forgot to mention that we were leaving town for a couple of months." His hands stilled, and his chin dropped. "The Wraith had a field day while we were on Earth."

"I heard. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," Rodney lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, "it hasn't been our best year. To be honest, we've never really had a good year. But this one…" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I guess Daniel told you about the Attero device. We went to all the worlds where I blew up-- where a stargate exploded, but there was nothing left. No people, no homes. Nothing. It's where we got the idea for reseeding the gates we used for Midway, but the worlds are uninhabitable."

"Not your fault, McKay. And don't," she held up a finger, "argue with me. I've already had this conversation with Daniel. I've read the reports. You couldn't have known-"

"I knew, Sam," he said quietly. "I knew Janus shut it down for a reason, and I turned it on anyway."

"To save Daniel's life."

"And mine. Do you know how many people died as a result?" He looked up at her, his eyes filled with guilt. "Do you?"

Sam shook her head. She hadn't wanted to know.

"Thirty-six worlds. Over two million people. And that's the ones we know of. We still hear occasionally from our trading partners about a planet they can't contact. When Halling called about this one…"

She squeezed his arm gently. "Can't blame yourself for this one."

"No kidding. Engulfed by a massive quake." He blinked a few times then turned his attention back to his tablet. "Now, if I could just-" His head popped up when the dim illumination that lined the room came on and the consoles whirred to life. "Hello."

Sam hurried around the bank of panels, the rush of a new find coursing through her. Lines of data in Ancient scrolled by too fast for her to follow on the main display while other monitors continued to boot up. She glanced at Rodney whose pinched expression was slowly morphing into a smile while his fingers blurred over the keyboard.

"Are you getting all this?" she asked.

"Every. Last. Word." He accentuated each word with a jab to a key, and the feed on his tablet flipped from Ancient to English. "Much better."

While Rodney busied himself with checking the main controls, Sam wandered around the room, wiping layers of dust from various displays. She caught a word here and there and was almost back to where she started when the niggling in the back of her mind solidified into a conscious thought. _Some of the displays were duplicates._ She frowned, backed up, and retraced her steps. Two consoles dealt with population, another two with climate, and yet another two with technology. A few were still powering up, but she suspected she'd find more duplicates when they went live since each set were back to back.

She moved to the population console and studied the readings. One word flashed repeatedly, and she finally dredged it from her mind: _Updating_. The rest of the data seemed to deal with age and health statistics, and after several minutes she decided it was looping – gathering information on the same set of records. People, she guessed, a few thousand. She walked around to the adjacent population console, gaping as the data stream flew by. It was also updating, but its set of records was much bigger, not repeating after ten minutes of careful scrutiny.

"McKay, I think this might have been some type of research facility."

Rodney glanced up, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah. I found some mission logs. The translation is still running, but it appears the Ancients were studying the sociological and technological impact of having a stargate."

"Really." Sam rounded the bank of consoles and peered over Rodney's shoulder, tingling with excitement as her brain latched onto the puzzle. "So they were monitoring this world, watching how using the stargate affected the people." Her gaze wondered over the panels in front of them. "I think these read-outs tell that story."

"Hmmm…" Rodney stood and dusted off his trousers, his eyes flicking from one display to the next. "I think you're right. But what were they comparing it to? I mean, there has to be a control subject. We've seen a few worlds with space gates, but the Ancients were manipulating their development."

"I don't know, but I think these consoles," she waved at the adjacent row, "contain their data."

Rodney scurried around to the other side. "Have you seen this – the population totals, the technology levels, the different pollutants in the atmosphere? This world would be more advanced than Earth." His eyes lost focus. "Elizabeth said there were technologically advanced planets in this galaxy, but we haven't been able to locate any." A sour expression twisted his features. "Except for the damn Asgard."

"Have you found any information on where this world is located or is this just a simulation?" Sam asked, hoping to drag Rodney away from the memories.

He blinked at her then shook himself. "Oh, um…" He typed a couple of commands in his data pad. "Not a simulation. The data is downloading." His eyes narrowed in thought. "The worlds the Ancients were manipulating used a series of satellites in orbit to upload and download information."

"There are no satellites around this planet."

"No, but this facility is here. The sensors are sensitive enough to monitor the entire planet. I'm sure it was cloaked so the population was unaware of being studied."

"So you think satellites on the other world were transmitting-"

A loud hum from the rear reverberated through the room. Sam and Rodney exchanged curious glances and turned as one toward the sound. When they neared the door, she heard a voice speaking, but it was echoing so badly she couldn't make out the words. She arched a brow at Rodney, and he shrugged. While he worked on opening the door, she wandered back through the consoles. The main console for the unknown world was flashing a warning.

"McKay, I've got something here."

"What?" Rodney looked back at her. "I can't hear you over that racket."

Sam moved forward a few steps. "The read-out over there says something about a sequence being interrupted."

"What sequence? Oh!" The door slid open and he stepped in to a large, empty room with a single console in the corner.

"I don't know. I-" Sam frowned, trying to decipher the announcement blaring, the voice now clear since Rodney had opened the door. Sequence…reaquire…fifteen… Sequence stopped – no, interrupted. Sequence interrupted. Reaquire…ten…

"McKay!" She took a step forward. "Rodney!"

He glanced up from the console. "What?"

"I think we need-"

A bright light flashed.

"-to get out… Uh oh."

They were standing in the same room, only different. Sunrays peeked through gaps in the ceiling, illuminating an otherwise darkened area. Dead leaves blanketed the floor and vines looped around the crumbling remains of the back wall. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of damp vegetation.

"Oh, God." Rodney's face was bone white as he stared at the dead console. "Please, not again." He dropped to his knees and ripped open the array. "This is so not good."

"What do you mean, 'again'?"

Blackened shards of crystals shattered against the wall. "Last time something like this happened, we were trapped on the Daedalus as it moved between realities." He pulled out another crystal and tossed it over his shoulder. "My team, one from another reality, was on there, dead." He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. "All four of us… them. We – my actual team – barely got off alive." His eyes grew wide as his hands stilled. "No, this is different. The lab didn't move. It changed. We moved through time, didn't we? Oh, damn. And we're the only two with any hope of fixing this." His breath came in quick gasps. "We are so screwed."

"Relax, McKay. I don't think we moved through time." She walked to a sunny spot and glanced up through the hole in the ceiling. "Yep, just like I thought. Different planet."

He rounded the console and stood next to her, following her gaze. "Are you sure?"

She pointed. "Twin suns. Can you see the second one in the distance?"

Rodney squinted then nodded. "Yeah." He tilted his head, his nose wrinkling as he studied her. "How'd you know?"

"That's what happened the last time I was in an Ancient lab. Well, except for the ones on Atlantis."

"You mean Merlin's labs? I read about that, but I thought they were tied into the gate."

"They were." Sam headed back to this lab's main control room. "This isn't quite the same scenario. Merlin was trying to hide his research by constantly moving." She kicked through the brittle leaves toward the dead control panels. "These scientists were going back and forth between two specific worlds. Assuming we're on the control subject world."

"Long range transporter? I wonder how far…" He moaned and muttered something that had to be a curse that sounded vaguely Satedan.

"What else is wrong?"

Rodney heaved a sigh. "My tablet and backpack are still on Devika."

"Well, that sucks."

"Yes," he snapped, "yes, it does. We don't know where we are or how to get back and the only tools that could help us do that aren't here."

"McKay, take a breath," Sam said in her best command tone. "You're so fond of reminding everyone that you're a genius. Act like it."

Rodney's face flushed scarlet, but his breathing slowed and his eyes speared her with a death glare. Good, at least he was focusing.

He stomped over to the power console and pulled open the access panel. "Great. This is completely fried."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, moving around to peer over his shoulder. "Maybe… Oh, yeah. That's never going to work again."

The inside was a blackened mass of melted circuits and charred crystals.

Rodney rubbed his eyes then stared at the room they'd been in. "The problem isn't power or this place wouldn't have been able to transmit data or materialize us."

Sam nodded, following his train of thought. "This panel overloaded when the system came on and suddenly had to deal with us."

"Exactly. Between the exposure to the elements and the damn humidity," he paused to wipe his brow, "it's a miracle it managed to do that." He stood, snapping his fingers as he paced in a tight circle. "This planet is supposed to be technologically advanced, right?"

"Yeah, but nothing's going to... Ahhhh. They might have a way to contact Atlantis." She grinned. "Let's go for a walk."

After a bit of searching – and a lot of cursing while they tried to pry it open – they found the manual release for the entrance. The doors screeched apart, and Sam gasped as a wave of heat blasted through the opening. She dabbed at the sweat that popped out along her hairline and stepped out into a pristine rainforest. Trees towered above her, their limbs heavy with fruit and chattering wildlife. Vines choked the space between trunks and dangled over thick underbrush dotted with fragrant flowers in a riot of colors.

"Where's Ronon and that sword of his when you need him?" Rodney grumped as he pulled his scanner from a vest pocket. "Oh, wow." He tilted it so she could see the screen. "I've never seen energy readings like this anywhere but Atlantis. Not a ZPM, signature's wrong, but something more powerful than our naquadah generators."

"Really." Sam took the scanner and studied the wave pattern. "I don't recognize the signature, either." She adjusted the settings to capture atmospheric contents. "But whatever it is, it's more efficient than anything we have on Earth. Levels of toxicity are minimal, no radioactivity to speak of." She flipped back to the original settings. "It's all around us."

"Yes, I noticed that." Rodney took the scanner from her, fine-tuning as he turned around. "It seems to be strongest…this way." He waved vaguely to the left.

They pushed and kicked and tripped their way through the jungle for over an hour toward the energy readings. Sam hadn't been in the field for months, and despite the buzzing insects, the lack of water, the ungodly humidity, and the non-stop ranting of one Rodney McKay, she found herself grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" Rodney demanded.

"What?" Sam echoed back.

"You're smiling. Why?"

"I'm having fun."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't get it."

"Get what, McKay?"

"The joke. There has to be a punch line in there somewhere," he bent over to catch his breath,  
"but I don't get it."

She patted him on the back then pushed a giant frond out of their way. "No joke. I haven't been off-world like this in a while. I miss it." She pulled him away from the hissing critter curled around an overhead branch. "Don't get me wrong – I love my job. Commanding the Hammond is incredible and a natural progression for me, but I spent a lot of years in places like this," she gestured around them, "and I miss the excitement. Wouldn't you, if you couldn't go off-world anymore?"

Rodney looped a vine around his arm to pull himself up the steepening terrain. "My team? Yes." He slipped, clawing at the ground until his feet hit a tree root and he scrambled back up. "Hiking in a hotter than hell rainforest with no supplies? Not a chance."

"Liar," Sam snorted. "You'd…" She trailed off as they crested the hill. "Oh, my."

A massive city sprawled before them. Spires that rivaled Atlantis rose in the distance, but the closer buildings were as impressive: architectural wonders of glass and gleaming metal that reached toward the sky and a plethora of smaller structures that were equally stylistic. Instead of a concrete carpet like most cities she'd seen – both on Earth and elsewhere – this one was filled with trees, flowers, and grass. Streets lined the perimeter while an elevated transit system connected the larger buildings. The sidewalks bustled with people, thousands of them everywhere she looked.

"My God," Rodney breathed. "I didn't think places like this actually existed in Pegasus."

"How have the Wraith not found this world?" Sam asked.

"Probably sheer luck," Rodney pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, "though they'd have to be looking in the right spot to know all this is here. Without the gate system to point the way, they'd have to stop nearby and detect the life signs or energy output. It's a big galaxy." He shrugged. "The goa'uld didn't find Earth until we opened the gate."

"Good point." She grinned at him. "Let's go say hello."

After a few minutes of slipping down the hillside, Sam spotted a footpath through the trees that eventually led to the outer road. Tasteful landscaping bordered and separated the two lanes that ran in each direction. Vehicles that resembled round, opaque Smart cars zoomed by at a steady speed.

"I really want one of those," Rodney whispered.

"You have jumpers."

"Sheppard won't let me fly them from building to building. These are small enough to drive down the hall."

Sam laughed and shook her head. "You are very sad."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "That's the best comeback you've got? You are out of practice."

"I know," Sam said. "The price you pay for being in charge."

"Speak for yourself." He stopped and stared at the traffic. "You think they'd understand thumbing a ride?"

"I'm not sure they know we're here."

"Because you can't see in the windows?"

"No, because no one is speeding." Sam lifted the braid off her neck and sighed as a slight breeze stirred. "Makes me wonder who's controlling the vehicles."

Rodney pulled out his scanner. "They don't register."

"Or they are powered by whatever is powering the city." Sam looked over his shoulder. "Does the energy signature wrap around the jungle?"

"I think so. Though why anyone would put a jungle in the middle of a city is beyond me."

"Reminds me of Central Park in New York – a sprawl of green in the middle of all the concrete."

Rodney snorted. "Except without all the smog."

"The only advanced worlds I've seen with air this clean were the Tollans and the Nox," Sam said. "I always wondered how they did it."

While she and Rodney walked toward the nearest group of buildings, they tossed around various ideas on vehicle propulsion and the intricacies of auto-pilot on roads. When the street turned away from the city center, they trekked through a park filled with laughing children chasing each other. Rodney stopped, a bemused expression on his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Nothing." His cheeks reddened and he hurried toward the sidewalk that would take them farther in. "It's just…we don't see that a lot here. I mean, kids are kids, I guess. Smelly and dirty."

"Rodney."

"Well, they are. Mostly. Anyway, the ones in Pegasus play but not with such, I don't know… abandon. The ones I've met usually have one eye on the sky the whole time. It's kind of depressing."

Sam understood. She'd noticed the same thing in the Milky Way when she'd first started going through the gate. One of the highlights of her work had been watching the children of many different worlds run carefree after so many years of oppression. She hoped Rodney would have that opportunity in Pegasus one day.

As they made their way toward the heavier populated areas, the sidewalks grew busier. People flowed around them in a wide range of dress – simple tunics of beige, vibrant shirts over matching trousers, swirling pastel dresses, work clothes and play clothes and severely cut business clothes – speaking in a language she had never heard before, barely giving them a second glance. Sam listened closer and was surprised to discover they were not all speaking the same language, but several different tongues.

"Do you recognize anything they are saying?" she asked Rodney.

His head tilted and his eyes lost focus. "No. Languages are more Teyla's area, but I know it isn't Ancient, Satedan, or Athosian."

She tried to concentrate on the conversations, but the scenery stole her attention. The elevated train whispered by overhead. Small teleport pads moved riders from ground level to train level instantly. With the touch of a finger, pedestrians guided hovering totes filled with their belongings, and several folks had a device that clipped over one eye, like a combo cell phone/video conference monitor.

"I'm in geek heaven," she murmured.

"No kidding. What do you-" Rodney sucked in a breath. "It's our lucky day."

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the street. She tugged but couldn't pull free from his grip; she always forgot that he was stronger than he looked. Prepared to break his arm, or at least sprain it a little, she reached for him then noticed where they were headed. One of the transport vehicles was parked on a side street, open, with puffs of steam escaping from its front.

A man and a woman were having a heated discussion off to the side. Rodney shot Sam a grin then casually walked by and peered inside. Sam followed. Most of the displays were dark, but a few glowed a soft green with blue squiggles that she assumed were symbols or words.

"I'd love to see this powered up," Rodney whispered. "I bet the window is some kind of viewscreen."

"Let's see what's under the hood."

They moved to the front and leaned over the raised cover. Rodney glanced around then pointed his scanner at the mass of circuits and clear tubing. The steam was coming from a crack in one of the lines, and an iridescent liquid dripped from it to the ground.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

He adjusted the parameters and tried again. "I'm getting some kind of faint, wireless signal, and that liquid is ionized. Now, if I had a way to test it." He slapped at his vest pockets. "To see what it's made of."

When the woman took a break from berating the man and glanced their way, Sam offered a weak smile and pulled Rodney away. He grumbled but followed her lead down the street and around the corner. Halfway down the block was a construction site. Dust wafted toward them as a large version of the hover tote deposited several pallets of metal beams around the lot. Mechanical constructs placed the beams while a few human workers applied a thick electric blue gel that hardened, holding the struts in place.

"What do you think they're building?" Rodney asked.

"I have no idea, but I really want some of that gel. Do you know how much faster we could construct new 304s?"

"If it's space worthy," Rodney replied.

Sam scrunched her face. "You don't think people this advanced have developed space flight?"

He shrugged. "It's possible, but don't forget the power the Ancients had over the people of this galaxy. They may have left some kind of instructions, making space travel taboo."

"You think they'd do that?"

"Hell, yes. I've seen several cultures with ridiculous practices based on their interpretation of 'Ancestor guidelines'." He shook his head. "The Ancients are a hard group to figure out. They had the foresight and ability to create stargates yet they also managed to create the Wraith and the Replicators. Then they skipped town when things got rough, leaving the humans here, alone." His face darkened. "Cowards."

She nudged his shoulder. "You big softie."

"I am not." He sounded insulted and pleased at the same time. "I'm tired of cleaning up their mess. That's all."

She leaned close. "I don't believe you."

The flush at his neck climbed to his ears. "Fine. Don't. What makes you think I care-"

Shouting interrupted him. When they turned, they found a tall man with heavily muscled arms waving and yelling at them. Unable to understand what he was saying, Sam smiled politely and held up both hands as she walked in the direction they'd come from, Rodney at her side. Instead of being appeased, the man seemed to get angrier, his shouts and gestures harsher.

"What is this guy's problem?" Sam asked, glancing at Rodney.

"I have no idea, but-" Rodney's eyes grew wide and he yelled inarticulately as he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground and landing on top of her.

An explosion rocked the area, and everything went black and silent.

xxx

She gasped as the world roared around her and dirt and silt rained down. Her ears rang painfully. Acrid smoke filled her nostrils and stung her eyes, making them water. Her left hand was pinned under her, the right flung wide. She couldn't breathe. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't draw in enough air. Something heavy was pressing on her chest. She wiped her eyes and raised her head.

Rodney was lying on top of her.

Sam dropped her head back. "McKay, get off. I can't breathe."

He didn't move.

"Rodney?"

She shoved at his shoulder, but he still didn't move. She shoved harder and her hand slipped, landing in something warm and sticky on his back.

"Oh, God, McKay." Sam wriggled in earnest, ignoring the gouging pain in the hand underneath her, finally getting enough of her upper body clear to sit up. "Oh, Rodney."

Several slivers of metal were embedded in his back, the biggest lodged in his left side below his shoulder blade. Blood, dark and thick, was pooling under him. Sam screamed for help, twisting until her shoulder popped and her hand was free. She scrambled to Rodney's side, trailing her fingers over the exposed part of his neck. Nothing broken that she could feel, but that didn't mean much. His vest had caught most of the shrapnel; his injuries seemed confined to the jagged shard protruding from his side.

"Help me!" she screamed again. "Please!"

People converged from everywhere, touching and pulling and babbling in languages she didn't understand. Sam shoved the panic away and tried to focus. The men and women nearest her were dressed in blue uniforms with various devices hanging from their necks and pockets. _Please be medical personnel_, she prayed. One of them turned to her, asking questions that she ignored. He poked and prodded then dabbed something cool on her face and hand. She looked down, surprised to see him washing blood from a deep cut near her thumb. The liquid he was using smelled like antiseptic but didn't sting. She wanted to take a bath in it later.

She left him to finish, turning her attention back to Rodney. The people helping him had wrapped something around the shrapnel to secure it and were gingerly loading him facedown onto a hovering gurney. Bags of liquids dangled from a pole near his head, their contents running through a tangle of wires into his arms.

When they moved toward a large transport, Sam dashed after them. "Wait! I'm coming with him." She pushed through workers to Rodney's side and grasped his hand. Someone tried to pull her away, but she jerked out of their grip. "I'm not leaving him."

The transport opened and she scrambled inside when they pushed the gurney in and latched it to the sides. A woman sat on Rodney's left, attaching something to his forehead and then to some type of diagnostic equipment.

Sam sat on his right, still holding his hand. "Hang on, Rodney. You're going to be fine. These people are going to take good care of you, and I'll be with you the whole time."

The woman glanced up, smiling uncertainly. "Mapre zhul gowriot?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I don't understand."

"Niby?" The woman frowned. "Liisshel ut mo?"

Sam shook her head, swallowing hard. How was she going to tell them what they needed to know about Rodney, his allergies, his medical history? Charades wouldn't explain hypoglycemia. She massaged a temple and took a deep breath. There had to be a way. She knew more about Rodney than anyone except maybe his team and his sister, and she had to make these people understand.

"Daniel, where are you when I need you?"

She had to assume they were racing through the city since she couldn't see outside and the transport had better inertial dampeners than the Hammond. Machines beeped around her, and the woman glanced her way occasionally but didn't try to communicate again.

Suddenly the back hatch flew open and workers hopped inside, unlatching the gurney and hurrying away. Sam jogged alongside them into a large building with the universal sterile scent of a hospital. They strode down a corridor then took a quick left. Her hand was ripped from Rodney's as he was whisked away behind closed doors.

Cut off, she slammed a fist against the doors and yelled then paced the length of the hallway and back, ten steps each way. A couple of people gawked as they passed, and she glanced down to find her right pants leg soaked in blood. Rodney's blood.

She slumped on a long green bench, cradling her spinning head in her hands. "Get it together, Carter. You've been in tougher spots than this."

And she had, many times, but usually with a teammate or four covering her back. Helpless was not something she did well, something she tried to never do at all. Most of the time when the outcome looked bleak, she had a task to focus on, a crisis to fix before the universe imploded. Now, all she could do was sit in an alien hospital and hope the people she couldn't communicate with weren't accidentally killing her friend.

When had Rodney McKay become her friend? Somehow, over time, he had moved from annoying fellow scientist to subordinate and had now landed solidly in the dependable friend category. Commanding Atlantis had been one eye-opening experience after another, not the least of which had been seeing the real Rodney, the one lurking underneath the prickles and barbed comments and occasional leers. Being on a team had changed him; this was definitely not the man who had written Teal'c off as dead so many years ago. Being in command had changed her as well. Standing alone at the top gave her a different perspective on just about everything, including the people around her; it had forced her to take the time to see what lay beneath the surface.

Voices pulled her from her musings. Two women dressed in what seemed to be the standard uniform of the medical personnel – navy blue short-sleeved tunic over matching pants and sturdy black shoes – walked out of the doors where they'd taken Rodney.

Sam leapt to her feet. "Excuse me." She waved a hand and smiled. "I know you don't understand what I'm saying, but they took my friend in there. I'd like to be with him."

They looked blankly at her and whispered to each other.

"My friend. He's a little taller than me," she held her hand over her head, "and has broad shoulders and something stuck in his back." She gestured toward her side where the shrapnel had been then pointed at the blood on her pants. "Where is he?"

One woman's eyes widened when she saw the blood and she hurried to Sam's side, pushing her gently on the bench and probing her leg.

"No, it's not mine." Sam pulled the woman's hands away. "My friend," she emphasized Rodney's height and shoulders again, "was hurt. He has short, dark hair," she pointed to hers then at the woman's brown curls, "like yours."

The woman exchanged glances with her co-worker then touched Sam's arm gently and held up a placating hand. She pushed Sam's hair back and ran her finger behind Sam's right ear then pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise.

Sam unplugged her earpiece from her radio and took it off her left ear. "Are you looking for this?"

The woman took it, brow furrowed, and turned it over in her hands then placed it near her ear and spoke at her friend. The other woman said something in reply. The first woman shook her head and handed the earpiece back to Sam then chattered with her co-worker who scurried away. She kept her hand on Sam's arm and smiled. After a few awkward moments, the other woman returned with a device similar to a large hearing aid. She placed it in and around Sam's right ear then pressed on it lightly.

Sam heard rather than felt a small charge zip through the device. The woman studied it for a second then sat back with a satisfied smile and spoke. When Sam didn't respond, she checked the device again and said something to her co-worker. The other woman looked at it and shrugged, responding rapidly in a language that sounded completely different than the first woman's, like someone speaking Chinese to a person who answers back in German.

The first woman waved her hand in front of her mouth. Sam raised her brows then shrugged.

"Hi. My name is Samantha Carter. I'm from a planet called Earth in the Milky Way galaxy."

The two women stared at her then each other. The first one patted Sam's hand and gestured for her to continue. So, Sam started to talk, glad to have something to occupy her mind at least. She told them about growing up as an Air Force brat, joining the stargate program, being on a team with three men who couldn't be more opposite, about her dad becoming a Tok'ra, about fighting the goa'uld and the Replicators, about flying 302s and designing 304s. She was in the middle of telling them about Daniel dying for the third time when suddenly their eyes went wide.

The first woman smiled, babbling a mile a minute. "Outrak ehsih adip ekjas copi. Pres never met anyone who spoke an unprogrammed language."

Sam gasped when the device in her ear suddenly rendered the words in English. "I can understand you!"

"Of course you can. What happened to your translator?"

Sam blinked back tears, overwhelming relief robbing her of her words long enough for her brain to kick into gear. She came from a world that didn't know the existence of the stargate or of people from other planets. How would these people react if she told them the truth? She couldn't put Rodney at any more risk.

"I don't have one," she hedged then plowed on. "I came in with a man who was hurt in an explosion. How is he? Can I see him?"

The woman nodded. "Krita, can you check?" After the other woman hurried back into the secured area, she sat on the bench next to Sam. "What's your name?"

"Samantha Carter."

"Hello, Samantha Carter. I am Astriv Delra. I serve as the chief nurse for the operating unit."

Watching her speak one language and hearing another was disconcerting, especially since Sam was actually hearing English in both ears, like surround sound for a dubbed movie. Her fingers itched to take the device apart to see how it did that.

"Is there someone who can bring you a change of clothes?" Astriv asked.

Sam glanced down at her bloodstained jumpsuit. "No. I'm…not from around here. I don't have anything else to wear."

Astriv's sharp eyes flickered over her, but her smile was warm. "Don't worry. I'll find you something in a minute."

Krita breezed through the doors and whispered to Astriv who nodded, her smile unwavering.

"Thank you," Astriv said to Krita who bobbed her head at Sam and continued on. "Your friend is out of surgery. I will take you to him."

Sam followed Astriv to a bank of transport pads. They stepped on one and stepped off on a different floor. She had been in enough critical care areas to recognize the quietness and the efficient bustle of personnel. Astriv led her to a private room where Rodney was sleeping on his stomach, strips of gauze covering his back.

"How is he?" Sam asked.

Astriv pressed a button on an overhead monitor and studied the readings. "He came through surgery well, but he has lost a lot of blood and we can't find a matching donor. His chemical makeup is different than anyone we've encounter." Her gaze flicked over Sam again. "He had a reaction to the platelets he was given en route. That's never happened before."

Sam turned away, knowing her eyes would betray her. "He has several allergies you should know about, and he suffers from hypoglycemia, um, low blood sugar. His pancreas secretes too much insulin."

"Yes, I am familiar with the condition." Astriv moved to a side table where Rodney's belongings were piled. "His clothes were too badly damaged to save, but these things were in them." She picked up the life signs detector. "We removed the shrapnel from his back and arm."

Sam grimaced when she saw the bandage where Rodney's sub-cu transmitter should have been.

Astriv put the LSD down and turned back to Sam. "Why don't you sit down while I find you something to wear?" She patted Sam on the arm and slipped out the door.

Sam squinted at the monitor but couldn't make sense of anything there. Field experience, and years of hanging out with Janet, told her that Rodney was stable. His face was pale from blood loss instead of being flushed with fever, and his breathing was easy.

His face was turned toward her, and she was struck by how young he looked as she pulled a chair to his bedside and sat. A few wild tufts of his hair were standing on end, and she brushed them into place while she told him about the transport, the hospital and the translator, knowing how jealous he would be that she got one first. His hand was palm up, and she traced the faint scar left from the rope burns when he wouldn't leave her behind in that mine. She slid her hand in his and, exhausted from the heat and the stress, promptly fell asleep.

xxx

She woke three hours later, according to her watch, when a nurse entered to check Rodney's vitals and placed a bowl of something aromatic and steaming in front of her.

"Thank you," Sam said, digging in. "How is he?"

"Better," the man said. "His pressure is up a little though it's still too low. His heartbeat is too fast but not dangerous."

Sam pressed her fingers to Rodney's wrist. "Actually, that's normal for him. Weird, I know." Her taste buds danced as she savored the chunky stew. "This is delicious."

The man's brows arched in surprise. "Really? That's a first."

She shrugged. "Compared to MREs and ship's stores, this is heavenly."

He scrunched his face in confusion. "MREs?"

"It's not important. I appreciate your kindness."

"I'm glad you likes it." He checked Rodney's bandages and injected something into a port. "I'll be back to check on him in a few hours. Call if you need anything."

Sam demolished the rest of the stew then gathered the clothes Astriv had left on the side table and headed to the small room in the corner. She peeled off the jumpsuit and crammed it into what she hoped was a trash receptacle then spent several minutes scrubbing blood off her skin and from under her nails. The cool water was refreshing. She gulped a couple of handfuls then splashed it over her face and eyes. Shampoo was too much to hope for, but she undid her braid and combed her fingers through her hair. She slipped on the yellow blouse and flowing black trousers, rebanded her hair, and headed back to her chair. Rodney was shifting restlessly, twitching and moaning in his sleep.

Sam stroked his hair like she used to for Cassie when she had nightmares. "It's all right, Rodney. You are safe. It's okay to sleep."

He snuffled, rubbing his face on the pillow, then settled deeper into sleep.

She poked through his belongings, hoping to find something useful. Discouraged, she grabbed the scanner and took a seat. It lit when she keyed the power on and she spent an uneventful hour running diagnostics and taking readings. Satisfied it was in good condition, she began to tinker, planning on finding a way to make it emit a subspace signal that her ship or Atlantis would pick up.

Her hands stilled. If Atlantis could pick up her signal, so could the Wraith. It would be like painting a bull's eye on this world, and she didn't have the right to do that. She couldn't place her desire to go home above these people's lives. John and Radek were smart enough to figure out what had happened to them and how to get them back, but if not, she and Rodney would have to stay. The technology on this world was enough to occupy them for years, maybe even the rest of their lives.

She refused to think about the people they would leave behind.

Sam placed the scanner on the side table with a sigh. She hoped Rodney would understand.

xxx

The next fifteen hours crawled by. Rodney would wake up long enough to blink at her then fall back asleep. She snatched her hand away from the scanner so many times she was getting carpal tunnel. She finally raked all of McKay's belongings into a drawer and slammed it hard enough to knock his water glass to the floor. With a sigh, she mopped up the mess and refilled the glass.

McKay eventually remained awake for longer periods of time, but he retained very little of the explanation she gave on what had happened. After reciting the story for the sixth time, she gave up and told him he was dreaming. He smiled and mumbled something she decided to not hear then snuggled into the pillow and slept.

She took a break to stretch her legs and get a breath of fresh air. A clean-shaven young man pointed her to the exit, and she stepped outside. The sweltering heat had cooled off to almost tolerable since the suns had set. She walked forward a bit, bracing her hands on the small of her back as she looked up and gasped.

No stars. Not a single one shone in the sky. No moon either. Even the brightest cities on Earth let a little starlight in, and this city somehow managed to glow warmly without being garish.

Was it a trick? Had the Ancients somehow prevented the people of this planet from seeing the stars or had they picked a planet in a void of space? Her mind raced through possible scenarios until with a guilty jolt, she realized how long she'd been gone.

Sam hurried back inside, relieved to find Rodney still fast asleep and happy to discover a tray filled with food, including more stew. She was scraping the bottom of the bowl when Rodney sniffed then scrunched his face and opened his eyes.

He looked at her in bewilderment. "You're not Sheppard."

"Wow. Nothing gets by you, McKay."

He frowned at her and craned his neck. "It's just…usually when I wake up feeling this bad, Sheppard is sitting there pretending to not look worried." He slumped down. "What happened?"

She tilted her head as she observed him. His eyes were bruised but clear, and he sounded lucid. "What do you remember?"

Rodney sighed loudly. "Sam, I'm really not in the mood…" His eyes flew to hers and widened. "We're stuck on a world with no stargate."

"That about sums it up."

Sam spent a few minutes telling him about the explosion and the translator. She convinced him to not call the nurse to demand one, promising to ask the next person who came in if he could have an extra.

Then she told him about the lack of stars, ending with, "Regardless of why, it might explain why they haven't tried spaceflight."

"You're assuming they haven't."

"Yes, I am, based on the fact that the Wraith aren't gorging themselves here. Which brings me to the next thing." She looked at him and grimaced. "I don't think we should try to contact our people."

Instead of the squawk she'd expected, Rodney nodded. "I know. Too risky." At her gape, he offered a tired smile. "I've lived in this galaxy for over five years, Sam, and this is the first world I've been to that the Wraith haven't…butchered." Bitterness crept over his features and into his voice. "I'll be damned if I let another world be destroyed to save myself. I knew the minute we saw the city that unless Sheppard and Zelenka pull some miracle out of their asses, we'd spend the rest of our lives here."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I knew you'd figure it out."

"You know, John and Radek are pretty smart," Sam said. "They'll figure it out, too."

"That's what I'm counting on." His brows drew together. "Did I just imply I thought they were smart? Must be the drugs."

"Right." She poked through the food on the tray. "You hungry?"

He groaned as he rolled onto his side. "What do you have?"

"Some fruit, a pastry, a couple of biscuits."

Rodney wrinkled his nose. "No, thanks."

She stood and stepped toward the door. "I can call-"

"No." He swallowed thickly as he waved at her to sit. "I don't think eating would be a good idea after all. Maybe a drink of water?"

"Sure."

He took a sip from the cup she held then sank back into his pillow with a yawn. "Are you sure, Sam?"

She set the cup down. "Sure about what?"

"Giving up everything and staying here, just you and me."

A witty retort died on her tongue when she turned to look at him; all arrogance had been stripped from his face, his eyes completely vulnerable. She eased into her chair, placing a hand on his arm. "I know what you…what we are giving up, but it's the right thing to do." She smiled gently. "And if John and Radek don't come, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather be stuck here with than you."

Rodney held her gaze for a long minute then glanced away, his cheeks pink. "Right back at you, blondie." He yawned again and his eyes fluttered shut. "Think they'll let us have our own lab?"

Sam patted his shoulder and pulled the sheet over him as his breathing evened into sleep. "How could they not?"

xxx

The next few days consisted of rest and physical therapy, which Rodney pronounced to be cruel and unusual punishment. They passed the time studying the monitor over his bed, trying to decipher the readings. When they got bored with that, they used the precision tools Rodney kept in a vest pocket to take apart the translator he had been given; of course, it never worked after that so he was given another, but he kept the first one to tinker with later. Only once did they allow themselves to think about being rescued.

"So, I'm standing there with Ronon's blood all over my hands while Teyla explains to him that Ronon's dead," Rodney frowned at the pieces of the translator, rearranging them for a third time, "and Sheppard just looks at us. Then he insists on going back for him." He shook his head. "The man refuses to leave anyone behind. I mean, he was adamant about it before…before Elizabeth, but since…"

Sam hid a smile, wondering if Rodney knew how much admiration was reflected on his face. "John's a good man."

"Yeah." Rodney glanced up at her. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

His eyes widened as he realized the implication then a crooked smile appeared. "If anyone can find us, Sheppard can. He doesn't know how to give up."

She pondered that as she studied the translator's circuitry chip. "What if they do come?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if the facility on Devika wasn't overloaded like this one was and John finds us. Do we tell these people who we are? Do we land the Hammond in the middle of the city and ask to speak to whoever is in charge?"

Rodney set his tools down and looked at her. "I think we have to. Just because the Wraith haven't found this world yet doesn't mean they won't. These people need to know the threat."

Sam arched a brow. "Like the people of Earth know?"

"Well, some of us know."

She stood, needing to move to get her brain in gear. "Be realistic, McKay. We can't just waltz in and announce that they aren't alone in the universe. They'd freak out."

"We don't know that they think they are alone."

"True." She paused in her pacing to consider that. "We should ask some of the nurses. Subtly."

"Don't look at me like that. I can do subtle."

Sam rolled her eyes. "You're as subtle as a freight train. Anyway, assume for the moment they think they're alone. We'd have to talk to the head of their government if we can figure out who it is and where to find them."

"And risk the chance of them covering it up?" Rodney folded his arms over his chest.

She nodded. "That might happen. In fact, I've seen it happen. But I've also seen an entire world ripped apart because we showed up and destroyed their belief system. The SGC has first contact protocols for a reason."

"These people need to know," he repeated quietly. "They have the right to defend themselves against the Wraith."

Sam sat down and stared at the disassembled translator. "I know. Let's do a little digging. See what we can find out."

A few casual questions confirmed her fears. The people of this world had no idea life beyond their planet existed, at least none of the people at the hospital believed it. The seat of government was in a section of the city that bordered a different edge of the jungle, and the ruling council consisted of elected officials from the different cities of the planet, twenty-five cities in all.

She and Rodney decided to take it slow and easy. They would establish themselves, prove they were trust-worthy people. They'd have to work their way up in the scientific community, have to be taken seriously before revealing the existence of the Ancient facility to someone open-minded enough to listen. Only after the concept of alien life was accepted would they admit who they were and warn of the danger of the Wraith.

The first step was getting released from the hospital, and nine days after the explosion, Rodney was declared healed enough to go home.

Rodney winced as he shifted in the chair, tugging at the neck of the pale blue tunic he'd been given to wear. "I see bureaucracy is another word for incompetence on this world, too."

"Be nice, McKay," Sam warned. "These are the people who are going to help us find jobs and a place to live. They've already agreed to waive the fees for your medical care. You can afford a little patience."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm trying. It just finally, I don't know, seems real. Until now, we've been here because I was injured when I saved your life."

"I've said thank you at least a dozen times. I'm not saying it again."

A smile flashed then faded. "We're really not going home." He scrubbed his hands over his face then clasped them in front of him. "I left an experiment running in my lab. Zelenka will probably take credit for it and win my Nobel Prize." His head dropped. "I didn't get to say goodbye."

Sam laced her fingers through his, understanding how he felt. Up to this point, everything had been theoretical, but now they were going to have to settle into society, have to accept this place as home. She'd left a video for Jack, Daniel, and Teal'c, letters for Mitchell and Vala, and everything she owned to Cassie. She said her mental goodbyes every time she stepped through the gate or onto a ship, but the anticipation of seeing them again remained. This felt final, and yet that little sliver of hope for rescue hadn't gone away.

"The administrator will be here soon," Sam said. "We're going to have to answer some of those questions we've been dancing around."

The corner of Rodney's mouth quirked up. "You mean you don't think they're going to accept our 'lost it all in a fire' story?"

"Um, no. They're pretty smart."

"Amnesia?"

Sam punched his shoulder. "Be serious."

He heaved a sigh. "We've been over this a hundred times."

"Then make it a hundred and one."

"We're part of a sociological experiment. A group from one of the rim cities…"

"Aloosh."

"Right. A group from Aloosh isolated themselves from society several generations back to compare development of language and social mores. We are their descendants. We are here to gather information and eventually take it back." He looked at her askance. "You think they'll buy it?"

"I hope so. I-"

When the silver light of an Asgard beam filled the room, Sam thought she might be hallucinating. Then John and Ronon appeared, guns drawn and aimed at Rodney.

Pure joy lit McKay's face then his typical mask of annoyance asserted itself. "What took you so long?"

"Rodney?" John gaped as he stared at McKay then a huge grin blossomed before worry took over. "You okay?"

"No, I…" Rodney trailed off at the concern on John's face. "I'm fine now." He glanced at Ronon. "But wait until you see the scar."

Ronon ruffled his hair. "Thought you might be dead."

Rodney's brows shot up. "You did? Why?"

"Transmitter's not working." Ronon jerked his chin towards Rodney's arm. "We were only picking up Colonel Carter's."

"We located the Ancient facility a couple of days ago, and we've been searching for you since then," John explained. "The Hammond's sensors had difficulty penetrating the interference from the city's energy output."

Sam held up a hand. "Please tell me my ship is cloaked."

John nodded. "It's cloaked. Didn't want to attract the Wraith."

"We need to go. Now," she said.

Ronon whipped his blaster up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered. "We need to go before anyone sees you. It's a long story."

Rodney grunted as Ronon pulled him to his feet. "Sam, what about-"

"Later, McKay." She nodded to John. "Let's go."

He keyed his comm. "Hammond, this is Sheppard. I've got Carter and McKay. We're ready to go."

xxx

Sam had never been so happy to see the cramped corridors of a 304 in her life. Her XO and Chief of Medicine were waiting in the transport area and immediately escorted them to sickbay. Other than the typical signs of stress, the examination showed her to be in good health. Ronon was suitably impressed with McKay's scar, but Sam didn't miss how John's jaw clenched when he saw it. The doctor ran a few tests, insisting that Rodney stay until the results came through, but said his initial exam indicated that McKay was fine. The care he'd received was exemplary.

She watched from the doorway as Rodney tried to get comfortable on the tiny bed, complaining loudly about the thin mattress, while John and Ronon pulled chairs up and tried to look nonchalant. She wondered if they realized that they hadn't stopped touching McKay since the moment they beamed in. Even now, both men had an elbow pressed against his ankles while they leaned on the foot of the bed. Tension seeped out of Rodney as he relaxed against the pillow and the worry lines by his eyes smoothed. He glanced up, caught her watching, and smiled.

Sam smiled back and waved then left the three men to catch up. The ship had jumped into hyperspace while she'd been in sickbay, and a check of a nearby monitor showed the ETA to Atlantis was a little over two hours. Each crewman she passed in the halls offered a smile, a handshake, and a, "Welcome home, Colonel." She was in her quarters and letting the shower pound at the knots in her shoulders before she realized this was home – her ship, her crew, her slice of the universe. When she finished, she put on a clean uniform and stopped to stare at the array of photos on her nightstand. She trailed her fingers across the faces of her dearest friends and family, missing them as always but knowing she was where she needed to be. When she got to Atlantis, she would discuss the planet they'd just left with Woolsey, certain that a call to the SGC and the IOA would be in order before they proceeded with first contact.

She removed the translator, wondering what Daniel would make of it, and placed it in her safe next to the goa'uld healing device Vala had liberated for her. She left her quarters and took her time, greeting her people as she wandered the ship. When she finally reached the bridge, she blushed at the applause she received. After thanking them for their efforts, she stepped to the command chair and sat, surprised to note that her usual feelings of restlessness were missing.

Sam settled back and listened to the sounds of her crew and her ship, happy to be home.

* * *

_Written for astridv who wanted a friendship fic featuring Sam and Rodney. Many thanks to coolbreeze1 for the lightning fast beta. All faults mine._


	25. Purpose

_A/N: Spoilers through The Daedalus Variations_

**Purpose**

Teyla pressed her forehead to Kanaan's. "I will join you as soon as I return. Save a cup of Ruus wine for me."

"I will," Kanaan replied. "Be safe."

"Always." She kissed the top of Torren's head, inhaling his scent. "It would not do for me to miss my son's first Tendol Feast."

At the sound of her voice, Torren looked up with a smile and snagged a fistful of her hair. When she tried to extricate herself from his grip, his face scrunched and he wailed like a wounded _milaska_ cub. Kanaan bounced him while Teyla shushed, glancing guiltily around the gateroom.

"He does not like to be away from you."

"I know," Teyla whispered. "I will not be gone long," she promised Torren then shook her head. "Why am I trying to reason with him?"

"Because it is what you do." Kanaan smiled as he shifted Torren to his shoulder and patted his back. "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," she echoed, sighing as she watched her family step through the ring without her.

Teyla had made the decision to stay with her team and thought she had put the questions behind her until she had seen the fate of her alternate self onboard the Daedalus. Nightmares disturbed her sleep almost as often as Torren did, and his sudden clinginess served to sharpen the guilt she already felt.

Shaking off the moroseness, she hurried to the transporter, tapped the map, and stepped out near the cafeteria. She walked in and scanned the room for her team, hearing them before she saw them – Rodney's belly laugh mixed with John's stuttering guffaws and Ronon's bray. She stopped to observe from across the room; it was rare to see them so relaxed and carefree these days. She smiled in spite of herself, cheered by their good humor, and filled her tray then moved quickly to their table on the balcony.

"There you are." John kicked a chair out for her.

Teyla slipped into the seat and shook out her napkin. "I apologize for being late to dinner."

"Kanaan and Torren leave?" Ronon asked between bites of meatloaf.

"Yes." She stirred her tea and nibbled on a fry. "Torren became…anxious."

Rodney grunted. "Separation anxiety. It's common for kids his age." He glanced around the table. "What?" he asked, bits of sandwich dripping from his mouth. "Jeannie sent me a book." He shot John a dirty look. "Someone told her I dropped Torren."

"Don't look at me," John said.

A flush heated Teyla's cheeks. "It was me, Rodney. I sent her an email to thank her for the rocking chair. She replied; we began conversing…" She ducked her head in embarrassment. "She has offered many words of encouragement and advice. It was not my intention to get you in trouble with her."

"Yes, well…" Rodney cleared his throat and glanced helplessly at John who was looking anywhere but at him. "She's, um, done a good job with Madison so, you know, listening to her is probably a good idea, but don't tell her I said that. I'll never live it down."

Teyla hid a smile behind her napkin. "Your secret is safe."

Talk moved to the day's activities and she let the conversation swirl around her, lost in her own musings. While she still believed with all of her heart that the best chance to defeat the Wraith lay with Atlantis, doubts about her place here continued to arise, especially after her people's devastating encounter with Michael. With so few of them now, they struggled to plant and harvest. Food was scarce everywhere due to the decimated populations of many agricultural societies, making trade agreements more difficult than ever. Halling had made no secret of the fact that her voice was needed on the Council and during negotiations.

Her biggest question was her place on the team. She knew John valued her wisdom when they dealt with other cultures, and her ability to sense the Wraith had been invaluable on more than one occasion. But did those skills outweigh her duty to her people and her son? Others on Atlantis had excellent diplomatic skills and what they lacked in knowledge of Pegasus, Ronon could fill. Rarely did the Wraith catch them by surprise these days. Rodney's ability to track their ships made most missions relatively Wraith-free. What purpose did she serve on the team?

"Teyla?"

John's voice broke through her reverie, and when she lifted her eyes, she found her teammates staring at with concern, as if they'd been waiting for her to acknowledge them for some time.

She dropped the fork that she'd been using to carve shapes in the applesauce. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

"I asked if you were ready to go. We're due to depart in half an hour." His brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine." She took a few quick bites of her mystery meat, wishing for Charin's delicate touch on the tough and tasteless game. "Has Mr. Woolsey approved possible trade talks?"

"Not yet." John exchanged disgusted looks with Rodney. "We're not allowed to offer food or medicine without him signing off on it first."

She frowned at him. "That will severely inhibit our ability to gain their trust at first contact."

"I told him that," John said.

"Should've told him a few other things, too," Rodney interjected. "Like where he could stuff those files."

Ronon snorted into his coffee. "Bet he's heard that before."

John grinned while stealing part of Rodney's brownie. "Wouldn't surprise me."

"Hey!" Rodney protested. "Go get your own brownie."

"Don't need to now." John stuffed the treat in his mouth. "Woolsey will learn eventually."

"Hope so," Ronon said.

"Has to," offered Rodney. "I mean, he has us as advisors."

"God help him," John muttered as he checked his watch. "Okay, the MALP indicated that sunrise on M3P-958 is in less than an hour so finish your dinner and gear up. We'll meet in the gateroom in ten. That includes you, McKay."

"Yeah, yeah." Rodney shoveled in a handful of chips. "Think we'll be back before midnight? I've got an experiment running that needs to be monitored."

"Five hours?" John cocked his head to the side. "Probably, but maybe not. Better have someone else do it. MALP didn't show any life signs in the vicinity so we may have a hike ahead of us. And before you ask, you know we can't take a jumper. Too many trees in front of the gate."

"Fine." Rodney crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. "But if Zelenka takes credit for it and wins the Nobel, you'll never have hot water again."

"I tremble in fear." John picked up his tray. "Ten minutes. I'm not kidding."

Teyla ignored Ronon's smirk and Rodney's grumbling as she dumped her tray and headed to the mission ready room. She flipped through the tac vests until she found her favorite and confirmed the pockets were properly stocked before slipping it on. She strapped on her thigh holster, loaded her sidearm, and slid it in the holster then snapped a magazine into a P-90 that she clipped to her vest. Rodney handed her a radio which she plugged her headset in, and they moved quickly to the gateroom where John and Ronon waited.

John nodded to Chuck and seconds later the shimmering blue of the ring beckoned to them. Teyla braced her P-90 against her shoulder and followed her team through. They exited into the pre-dawn stillness of an unknown world. The air was frigid, and the trees that stood guard around the ring bore tight buds that whispered the promise of spring. A well-traveled path cut through the bright green ferns that blanketed the ground, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

"McKay?" John asked.

Rodney was already studying the life signs detector. "Nothing nearby." He switched to his scanner. "I'm picking up some kind of energy signal." He frowned as he adjusted the settings. "I can't get a firm read. It seems to be fluctuating."

Ronon squinted into the woods. "Wraith?"

"No, not like any Wraith signature I've seen before. In fact, I haven't seen anything like this before." Rodney shrugged. "It's somewhere in front of us. That's all I can tell you."

John shouldered his weapon and stepped off the dais. "Let's go see what it is."

Teyla allowed them to go first, scanning the area behind the ring before following after them. "Did you find any more references to this world?"

"No," Rodney answered. "Just the bit that was in the mission brief. Radek and I scoured the database for any other references to allies of the Ancients, but came up empty. Whoever the original inhabitants of this planet were, they dissolved the alliance and were never heard from again."

"Wish we knew why they dissolved it," John muttered.

"Me, too." Rodney winced and wiped his forehead. "It gets hot here quick."

Ronon shot him an incredulous look and pulled his coat tight. "Must be all that hot air."

"Ha ha."

"Got something here," John called.

Dots of light flickered through the mostly bare branches. When they rounded the next bend, Teyla could discern in the distance the shadowed forms of buildings – small, square huts with candles in the windows. The scent of burning wood wafted on a breeze that signaled sunrise was imminent.

"Time to make some friends." John grimaced and rubbed at his forehead but continued forward. "Rodney, life signs?"

"Um, yeah." Rodney swallowed thickly and pulled out the detector. "Few hundred."

John grunted, and Rodney inhaled sharply.

"What is wrong?" Teyla asked.

John waved a hand. "Just a headache." He strode forward, shoulders stiff.

Rodney shuffled to a stop and bent over, sucking in air. "Something's not right."

"Sheppard?" Ronon called.

John shook his head, shuddering as he took another step. "I… I don't-"

His body jerked once then froze, caught in a web of red beams that appeared from nowhere. He screamed as they crackled over him, his body convulsing in their grip, and then he vanished, leaving only an afterimage outlined in red.

"John!" Teyla shouted as Ronon bellowed and dove forward.

Rodney collapsed to the ground.

Ronon rolled to his feet, blaster in hand, eyes darting in every direction. "I don't have a visual."

Teyla wheeled, backing toward him and Rodney with her P-90 at ready. "Neither do I." She halted next to Rodney and pressed her fingers to his neck. "He is alive, but unconscious and his heart rate is extremely high."

Ronon knelt beside them. "What do you want to do?"

She blew out a breath, struggling to remain calm while she scanned the woods as the first rays of dawn offered their light. "I have not detected anyone here but us."

"What are you saying? That something on the planet attacked them?"

"Perhaps. Our presence may have set off some kind of trap."

Ronon's jaw tightened, a vein throbbing in his temple. "The villagers?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "I doubt it. Their structures are too primitive to house the kind of power we saw." She sighed. "Then again, I once thought the same of the Genii."

"But why not us? I was standing between Sheppard and McKay and I'm fine."

"They are different from us." Teyla scrutinized the forest again, still not sensing anyone else. "They are from another galaxy."

"And they have the Ancestral gene," Ronon finished.

She nodded. "That seems the most obvious conclusion. You should take Rodney back to Atlantis and return with help."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go to the village and ask some questions. Perhaps someone there knows what happened to John."

Ronon holstered his blaster and pulled Rodney across his shoulders then pinned her with a grim look. "Be careful."

Teyla brushed leaves from Rodney's slack face and squeezed Ronon's arm. "You as well. Be sure Mr. Woolsey understands the possibility that our assumptions are wrong, but suggest he send only non-gene bearers."

"Got it." Ronon stood and disappeared into the forest.

Teyla closed her eyes, seeking peace as she tried to center herself. Panic would not help John. Her thrumming heart slowed to close to normal, and she rose and set off for the village, determined to not leave this planet without her team leader and friend.

Her pace was rapid and the trek easy over the relatively flat terrain. When she entered the village, a wizened woman offered a toothless grin over the top of a bubbling kettle.

Teyla bowed her head. "I seek the leader of this town."

"You seek Grelin," the woman answered. "You will find him leading morning prayers at the council fire." She gestured toward the center of the village.

"Thank you."

Teyla hurried toward the gathering, studying the settlement as she went, choosing and discarding negotiation tactics based on her observations – agrarian society, no technology, large families, all-male council.

She approached the fire and waited to be acknowledged.

A stocky man finished speaking and raised his head. "I am Grelin. How may we assist you, Traveler?"

Teyla inclined her head in respect. "I am Teyla Emmagan of Athos. My companions and I came to your world to meet your people. As we traveled through the woods, a bright red light…enveloped one of them and he disappeared. Another man was injured. Have you ever experienced anything like that before?"

A loud murmur arose amongst the council, and Grelin held up his hand, waiting until the noise quieted. "Such a thing has never occurred to our knowledge. The only time men disappear is during a culling." He glanced toward the sky. "And the Wraith have never taken just one man."

"I do not believe the Wraith are responsible," Teyla replied. "Have you ever been attacked by someone other than the Wraith?"

"We have the occasional marauders after our crops."

"But no one with advanced weapons like the Wraith have?"

Grelin shook his head. "The weapon you carry looks more advanced than any we've seen before."

Teyla sighed, hoping the frustration roiling around inside her was not showing on her face. She must be missing something. What had Rodney said about the original inhabitants?

"How long have you lived on this world?" Teyla asked.

"Seventeen generations," Grelin answered, his eyes narrowing. "Do your people intend to make a claim?"

"No. I only wish to find my leader." Teyla glanced around the area. "Have you found any trace of the people who lived here before?"

Grelin moved to stand in front of her, studying her intently. Fighting her instincts, Teyla kept her gaze focused on a freckle under his eye. Finally, he nodded.

"There are ruins in the forest, but we have never explored them. They are unstable, crumbling."

"Please," Teyla's voice cracked, "take me there."

"It is very dangerous," Grelin warned.

"No blame will be placed upon you should anything happen to me. Please," Teyla begged.

"Very well. Follow me."

Grelin led her back to the path then into the woods. They traveled for a few minutes through thinning trees, the landscape becoming flatter and rockier until they reached a glade and the crumbling ruins it held. What must have once been an impressive city was now partial walls and piles of stone with the exception of the middle structure – a large, squat building with multiple sides and a domed roof with a pointed spire in the center. She spotted snatches of color on the pale gray rock – streaks of blue and purple that might have been decoration or words.

Teyla turned to the village leader and bobbed her head. "Thank you. If others dressed as I am arrive, please direct them here."

Grelin bowed slightly. "Be well, Teyla of Athos. I hope you find the one whom you seek."

She circled around the rubble, searching for an opening, finally spotting a small aperture. Thankful for the days she had spent as a child climbing every hill and tree Athos offered, she pulled herself on top of the large boulder blocking the entrance and slipped behind it. The tight fit between the stone and the wall made her pause to unclip her P-90 and remove her vest. She slid to the right until her shoulder found the gap, and she dropped her vest and gun inside. She wiggled until she was low enough to stick her head through the opening then braced her foot against the boulder behind her and launched herself inside.

Darkness enveloped her, and she patted the ground around her until she located her P-90 and switched the light on. The room was small and anything in it had long turned to dust. She grabbed her vest and crept toward another gap as small as the first. It opened into a larger room with broken pieces of wood that might have been furniture long ago. The dancing beam on her weapon made dust motes sparkle but otherwise she found nothing of value.

"John?"

Her voice crashed through the silence, and she held her breath as she listened for a reply.

Nothing.

She continued onward, swiftly and sure-footedly through tight openings and empty rooms. One led her to a hallway that was fairly open and she moved quickly down it, checking each room thoroughly, calling John's name occasionally but never receiving an answer.

The contents of the rooms grew. Some were living areas, others labs and still others with purposes she couldn't fathom. Debris blocked the entrance to a few, forcing her to pass them by after she perused them carefully and called for John. She peeked in one filled with darkened consoles and bypassed it then turned around and went back. Much time with Rodney had taught her that most answers were found in control rooms, and experience told her this was one.

She squeezed and wriggled until she was through the slabs of stone that barricaded the doorway. Thick layers of dust, dirt and rock covered the panels that were still standing and she used her vest to clean off as much as she could, trying not to imagine how much she was inhaling then wondering exactly how much of Rodney McKay had rubbed off on her.

When a console in the far corner hummed under her hands, tears pricked and sliced through the grime on her cheeks. Finally, evidence that this might not be a fool's errand, that perhaps this place had enough power to snatch John from them. Teyla pulled gauze from her vest and scrubbed the panel displays, frowning as unfamiliar symbols flashed. She scrubbed a bit more and realized the symbols weren't foreign as she'd first thought, but rather a language that she hadn't seen since her youth – a formal, almost archaic form of the standard trade language. Her father had spoken it on rare occasions, usually in initial negotiations with a new trade partner.

She was still translating the few words she recognized when her radio crackled.

"_Teyla?_"

A little of the burden that had been crushing her lightened at his voice. "Ronon? Where are you? How is Rodney?"

"_Keller says he'll be fine. Something about heightened neuro… something about more activity in the pain center in his brain. The guy in the village said you were in these ruins. How'd you get in there?_"

"A small opening-"

"_Never mind_," Ronon cut in. "_Found your tracks_."

"Did you bring assistance?"

"_Yeah. Got Zelenka and a team of Marines. You crawled through this crack in the wall?_"

She smiled at the incredulity in his voice. Sometimes it was good to be small. "Yes. I am in a control room, but I have not found any sign of John."

"_Teyla, this is Radek_." A series of grunts and mumbled curses were mixed in with a scraping sound. Then, "_Ouch! No, no, I am fine_." He cleared his throat. "_I am inside the complex. Where are you?_"

"Can you see my footprints in the dirt?" she asked.

"_Um…yes. I am coming to you_."

"If you reach a point in which you are uncertain, stop. I will find you."

"_I understand_."

While she waited for him to arrive, she continued to clean off the consoles that were powered up. After several agonizing minutes, she heard Radek's voice echo in the hallway.

She stuck on arm between the massive rocks in the entrance. "I am in here!" she called, waving her hand.

"Oh, yes, there you are." Radek's face appeared, dust covering his hair and face, finger-sized streaks on his glasses. "How did you get in there?"

She showed him the opening and helped him squeeze through. He coughed, apologized then sneezed loudly as he wiped his eyewear on the inside of his shirt. Teyla patted his shoulder then pulled him across the room and showed him the consoles.

Radek frowned at the read-outs. "I do not recognize this language."

"It is very old," Teyla said.

His brows shot up. "You can read it?"

"A few of the words."

He whipped out a laptop and plopped in the floor, a dust cloud rising around him while he shone his flashlight inside and searched for a place to connect. He finally got a panel open and peered in. "Hmmm… this might take a minute."

While he worked, she pried the panels open on the other working consoles. One of the flashing symbols caught her eye and she slowly sounded it out in her head until it formed a word she knew. When she toggled the switch underneath it, harsh yellow light flooded the room.

Radek's head jerked up. "What did you do?"

She pointed at the console. "Lights," she explained with a sheepish smile.

He nodded in appreciation. "That will make this much easier."

Minutes later, he stood and dusted off his pants. "I believe I am connected. Now," he tapped on the tablet, "to translate. Tell me which words you know."

She pointed out the words she remembered from childhood and he diligently typed them in.

"Anything else?"

"No. I am sorry."

He shook his head. "I think this will be enough for the translation program to work, though it will take some time."

She glanced around the room, feeling useless. "Then I shall continue exploring."

At his absent nod, she crawled back into the poorly lit corridor and headed deeper into the complex. She kept her comm channel open, relaying the results of her search to Ronon who was stomping so hard in the rubble that the radio picked up the sound of rocks skittering and cracking under his boots.

"Be calm, Ronon," she advised. "We will find him."

"_I should be doing something_," he barked.

"We do not know if he is in here." She pushed against a heavy door that didn't budge. "You could search elsewhere."

The stomping paused. "_Where?_"

She sighed and leaned against the door, shoving with all her might. "If I knew, I would be searching there myself."

"_Lorne's on Atlantis, trying to figure out a way to get a jumper here_." Rocks crunched again. "_What if that beam took him to a ship or another planet?_"

The door swung open enough for her to wriggle through. "One worry at a time." She glared at an identical door on the other end of the hallway then hurried toward it. "Let's keep our focus here for now."

She pushed through the next door and gasped as a bolt of pain shot through her head.

"_What's wrong? What's that sound?_" Ronon demanded.

Teyla clenched her eyes shut. "What sound?"

"_High-pitched whine. You can't hear it?_"

"No, but I believe it is making my head hurt."

She braced a hand against the wall and breathed through her mouth until her equilibrium righted. Squinting into the flickering light, she bit back a curse at the sight of another door. She trudged forward, ignoring the tears sliding down her face, and slipped into the next hallway. Rooms lined both sides of the corridor and a woman's voice droned mechanically.

"_Who's that talking?_" Ronon asked.

"I believe it is some kind of…" She concentrated, the noise separating into words. Her brows shot up. "It is the Ancestral tongue. 'Creator of Wraith…Bringer of death…' Something else I cannot understand."

"_Can you-_"

"Quiet," she ordered. "I hear something." She closed her eyes, blocking out the headache and the voice, straining to hear the scrap of sound that had caught her attention.

A low moan echoed faintly in the hall.

"John!" she cried.

She raced past several empty rooms then stumbled to a stop in front of one that shimmered around the edges. _Forcefield_, her mind supplied. In the faint light, she could make out a form curled in a ball in the far corner, shuddering violently.

"John!"

The form didn't react. She shone her light inside and felt her knees wobble as it illuminated a black wristband on an arm wrapped tightly around a dark-haired head.

"I have found him! Radek, can you shut down the forcefield?"

"_What forcefield?_" Radek replied. "_I don't know where you are_."

"_Can you shoot it?_" Ronon asked.

"No," Teyla answered, spotting shell casings littering the cell. "John has already tried." She decided to not mention the puddle of vomit. "We must do something. He is in great pain."

"_I am trying_," Radek said, "_but the translation program is still running. I could make things worse if I push the wrong button_."

Teyla backed up a step and studied the cell door. "I have found the controls. It is a keypad like Atlantis has, but I do not recognize the symbols."

She whirled, spying the same keypad on the other doors in the hallway. A memory glimmered in the back of her mind – one of those ridiculous movies John liked so much that sent Rodney into a fit over plot holes and highly unlikely scenarios. She darted to the nearest keypad and scrutinized it then moved to the next and the next. The same four symbols on several keypads were heavily scratched.

Teyla dashed back to John's cell and pressed the four symbols, but nothing happened. She tried a different combination. Still nothing. Undeterred, she tried again. On the fifteenth combination, the shield dropped.

"John?" She moved inside cautiously. "John, it's Teyla." She dropped to a knee next to him and touched his shoulder. "John?"

He cried out at her touch and pulled away from her, eyes clenched shut and arms wrapped around his head.

"I am here to help you," she murmured. "Please let me."

He gasped when she brushed her fingers over his hand.

"John?"

His hands flexed around his ears, and he opened his eyes then slammed them shut. "Teyla?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes."

John jerked away when her hand trailed over his. "Please, don't. Don't touch me." His breath hitched. "It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Everything." He groaned and pushed himself up with one hand. "Even where my clothes touch my skin." He swallowed thickly and plucked at his collar.

"All right," Teyla agreed. "Can you walk?"

He nodded minutely and climbed to his feet, staggering slightly. He trembled as he followed her out of the cell and down the corridor. She tugged on the door until it opened enough that he could slip through without brushing against it. He hunched over and shuffled along beside her as if he bore a great burden on his back, but he seemed to relax a bit when they left the droning voice behind. She pulled on the last heavy door that separated them from the rest of the complex and felt her headache drop away when she walked through.

John staggered like a drunk, his head down and his face frozen in a grimace of pain. "You okay?" he asked.

"I am fine," she answered softly. "Only you and Rodney were affected. He will be fine," she assured him when his head lifted, eyes wide. "He is on Atlantis."

"Good," John mumbled. "What the hell happened?"

She explained what she had seen and her subsequent search. "What do you remember?"

"Not much," he admitted. "Felt like I got hit by a lightning bolt then I was in that cell and my head was splitting open." His eyes closed. "Thought I was getting life-sucked by a Wraith for a minute." He sighed. "I tried shooting at the forcefield but that only made things worse. Don't remember anything after that. How long?"

She glanced at her timepiece. "About four hours." She stopped in front of the control room. "Radek?"

A dusty face peered out. "Colonel Sheppard! Good to see you!"

John recoiled with a wince.

"Quietly, Radek," Teyla advised.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Radek murmured. "The translation has finished. This place was built by the Refrellum, former allies of the Ancients. It seems relations between the two became rocky when the Refrellum discovered the Ancients had unwittingly created the Wraith, but the final blow was the Replicators. The Refrellum objected strenuously to the creation of a race of sentient constructs built to do the Ancients' bidding, basically slaves. When the Ancients rejected their counsel, they broke ties and relocated to this world. This complex houses a security system against all their enemies, including Ancients."

"Damn gene," John muttered, weaving slightly, his eyes barely open.

"Apparently it also has the ability to fire at ships, including jumpers." He held up a hand. "I have already informed Atlantis. It has similar defenses against the Replicators and Wraith, but those systems," he waved at some of the dead consoles, "are not functioning."

"That is why I was not affected," Teyla surmised. "And why the Wraith can cull."

"Yes, but I think-"

John moaned and slumped to the floor, chest heaving.

Teyla knelt by him. "John?"

He took a few ragged breaths then opened one eye. "Sorry. Not feeling so good."

She nodded. "We will get you home." She moved back to the stone barrier between her and Radek. "We will not be able to get John out the way we came in. Is there another way out?"

"Let me check." Radek hurried away then returned. "Yes. The diagram shows another hallway branching off two rooms back. Sensors indicate the area is mostly clear. I have shut off the security system. Colonel Sheppard should not be attacked again."

Teyla keyed her comm. "Ronon?"

"_Been listening. We'll be looking for you_."

She turned to John, his face haggard and lined with pain. Part of her wished he would give up and pass out, but the rest of her was proud that he was still fighting. He would not be John Sheppard otherwise. "Are you ready?" she asked, holding out a hand.

He winced but clasped her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. She let Radek lead and held back until John followed him. She kept her hands on her P-90 and every sense attuned to their surroundings. John staggered along valiantly for a while but by the time they reached the new corridor, his head hung between his shoulders. He took a few more steps then dropped to his hands and knees, retching, tears trickling down his face. Teyla reached for him then stopped herself, fighting against her natural impulse to comfort him. His arms shook and his head drooped low. When he slid sideways, she darted to his side and caught him.

"Radek," she called.

He moved to John's other side. They pulled John's arms over their shoulders and stood, skirting around the mess in the floor and dragging him toward the exit. After a few endless minutes, the stale air and harsh yellow light gave way to sunbeams and the moist scent of the forest. They emerged into daylight.

"Ronon!" Teyla called.

"Here!" Rocks scattered as Ronon's form clambered over a boulder. "What happened?"

"The pain was too great."

Ronon grunted an acknowledgement as he scooped John in his arms. "Reardon!"

"We're ready," a voice replied.

Ronon hefted John over the boulder then scrambled up and followed. By the time Teyla and Radek climbed over, Ronon and John were gone and four Marines were staring off into the forest.

"Lieutenant?" Teyla questioned.

Reardon flushed. "No one can keep up with him even with him carrying the colonel."

Relief and exhaustion made her legs shake but she did not give up easily either. "I believe I shall try."

She dashed into the forest, following the snapped branches and trampled ferns Ronon left behind. The few seconds he had to spend to dial and input his IDC were enough for her to catch him, and when they stepped through to Atlantis, they found a med team and Woolsey waiting in the gateroom.

Woolsey moved next to them, his eyes not leaving the gurney where John lay. "Excellent work."

Teyla dipped her head. "Thank you." She hesitated as the med team raced away.

"Go," Woolsey said. "We'll talk later."

She hurried down the hallway toward the medical suite, Ronon at her side.

"You did good, finding him like that," he said.

Teyla shook her head. "He was in so much pain…"

"Sheppard's as tough as they come. He'll be fine."

"I hope so."

"He will." Ronon nudged her arm. "He and McKay will be arguing with each other like always before you know it."

She offered a small smile. "I will welcome the sound."

When they entered the infirmary, medical personnel thronged around a bed that a nurse was cordoning off with a privacy screen. Teyla recognized John's boot on the floor and sighed, knowing they would have to wait for Jennifer's report. They headed down the hall until they found Rodney's room. Other than the occasional shaky breath, he was sleeping soundly so she moved a chair to his bedside and sat down.

"Um…" Ronon's eyes flicked over her. "I don't think Keller's going to let you stay in here like that."

"What?" Teyla glanced down. "Oh." She was covered in so much dust, her arms and hands were gray. "I will return."

She hurried to her quarters, flinging her vest and weapons in a corner, then stripped and showered. She had to wash her hair three times before the water ran clean. She pulled on a soft blouse and skirt, slipped on a pair of sandals, and tied her hair back as she walked to the infirmary, arriving as a tech and Jennifer were wheeling John in.

"How is he?" Teyla asked.

Jennifer positioned the IV pole and attached the leads on his hand and chest to the monitors. "He is suffering the same effects as Rodney, only to a much higher extent," she whispered. "All of his senses seem to be hypersensitive so we will need to keep light and sound to a minimum until it wears off."

Teyla frowned. "Can nothing be done to help him?"

"I have him on painkillers which should help some, but the neurological shock has to dissipate on its own." Jennifer shook her head. "Whatever was in that beam really did a number on him."

"Not sure it was all in the beam," Ronon said. "Beam didn't hit McKay."

Teyla nodded. "And they were both feeling ill before it appeared."

"Why didn't it take Rodney?" Jennifer asked.

Ronon shrugged. "They were standing a few feet apart. Maybe McKay was out of range."

Jennifer glanced from John to Rodney and back. "I bet the beam enhanced the effects based on the heightened activity on Colonel Sheppard's scans." She turned when the door opened. "Mr. Woolsey."

"Doctor. How is he?"

Teyla turned her attention back to John while Jennifer repeated her report. John's face was still pinched with pain, and his breath stuttered at times, but he had a little color in his cheeks and the tremors had stopped.

"Teyla?"

She glanced up at Mr. Woolsey. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him. "Doctor Zelenka has given me his preliminary report and requested to take a team back to the planet to study the ruins. He thinks he may find some valuable data on how to fight the Wraith. I am hesitant to allow him to do so without the blessings of the local populace."

She inclined her head. "A wise decision."

"Yes, well, I would like you to go back to negotiate for the right for us to explore the ruins."

She looked down at John. "You have many skilled diplomats." She turned back to him. "Surely you have someone else who could negotiate."

Mr. Woolsey appeared genuinely shocked. "We have no one with your level of skills or expertise, and your knowledge of the cultural nuances is invaluable." He schooled his features, and only someone with her abilities could detect the dismay in his eyes. "However, I will understand if you have other duties to attend."

Teyla curled her fingers to prevent herself from grasping John's hand. "How soon did you anticipate the negotiations beginning?"

"As soon as possible. Perhaps in a day or two?"

She nodded. "I have a Tendol Feast to attend after John awakens. I will go afterward."

"Of course. I will inform Doctor Zelenka." Mr. Woolsey rocked back on his heels then nodded and left.

"What was that about?" Ronon asked. "Since when don't you like to talk people into doing what you want them to do?"

"It is not a matter of like or dislike. I was merely pointing out that there are others who can do what I do."

Ronon snorted. "Right."

"What does that mean?"

"Nobody can do it like you." He slouched in his chair and stretched his legs. "Like the way Sheppard flies or McKay makes stuff work. Other people can do it, but not like them. Sheppard says all the time that they wouldn't have survived the first year without you." Ronon grinned at her. "You've talked all of us either out of something stupid or into something that saved our lives."

"I am pleased to know you were listening." Flustered, she reached for John's hand without thinking.

John groaned and blinked sluggishly. When she tried to pull her hand away, his fingers tightened around hers. "Teyla?"

"Yes. How are you feeling?"

"Drugged," he mumbled. "We home?"

"We are. You are safe now."

"Thank you," he whispered.

John took a shuddering breath and dropped into sleep, tension seeping from his body. His grip on her hand remained so she scooted her chair closer and laid her other hand on top of his. Ronon moved between John's and Rodney's beds then stretched out again and fell asleep immediately like only he could.

Teyla smiled to herself as she watched over her team – her other family. Atlantis was as much her home as Athos, and these people were her people as well, especially the three men in this room. Her duty to Torren including giving him the chance to grow up free of the Wraith, and if a word from her would help accomplish that then her place was here. Something inside that had torn loose aboard the alternate Daedalus settled into place, and she breathed freely for the first time in weeks.

She sat back and smiled, anticipating the glass of Ruus wine that awaited her at the Feast. Perhaps she would bring some back for her teammates to enjoy. After all, the photos of them from last time still appeared occasionally.

When she needed them to.

Not all negotiations required words.

* * *

_Written for the flashfic picture challenge on sheppard h/c comm. Thanks to coolbreeze1 for the beta. All faults mine._


	26. Shall We Play a Game?

_General S5 spoilers._

**Shall We Play a Game?**

John studied the monitor with a frown. "It doesn't make sense, McKay. Why would the commander order his men into the canyon? It's an indefensible position and an obvious ambush site."

McKay peered over his shoulder. "What would you do?"

"See this trail?" John traced the path along the ridge. "Have the men follow it and flank the bad guys."

"I told Zelenka it wouldn't work," McKay grumped, attacking his keyboard with a vengeance.

John hid a smile. "The graphics look good," he offered.

"They should. Harrison spent six months tweaking them." Rodney rolled his eyes. "My niece could have done them faster than that."

John grunted noncommittally as he clicked out of the screen and moved to the next level. "Does the SGC really think this is going to work?"

"Sam says they've had some success." McKay leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head. "Apparently they've been using video games as a recruiting tool for a while. She says they've gotten a few promising scientists and a math geek out of it so far."

"Seems farfetched."

Rodney shrugged. "Almost as farfetched as some random pilot wandering into a secret facility in Antarctica and sitting in the one chair that he shouldn't."

"Jealousy is so unbecoming." John laughed when Rodney flipped him off. "So, what is the SGC looking for with your…" He squinted at the screen. "What are you calling this?"

"War Games. It's meant to evaluate strategic thinking and problem solving."

"While blowing up stuff. Cool."

McKay shook his head. "Is that all you think about?"

"No." John waggled his brows.

"Seriously? What are you, thirteen?"

John groaned when his hip popped as he stood. "Unfortunately not. Besides, you're the one who included explosions in the game."

"Ronon insisted." McKay shut the computers down and grabbed his jacket. "He said it wouldn't be a real battle without it."

John sobered. "He's right. Did you include having the commander make sure his men were a safe distance away as a parameter?"

"Yeah. Sam and General O'Neill sent a list of what they wanted to evaluate."

"Why you?" John followed McKay out of the lab. "Don't you have enough to do?"

"Please," Rodney scoffed. "I have more than enough." They stepped into the transporter then out near the main conference room. "They want to use this one to recruit for Pegasus."

John's brows shot up. "Really?"

McKay waved the conference room doors open and slid into his seat. "Well, not solely for Pegasus, but you have to admit that we face some unique situations here and nothing they have now reflects them."

"So, you included space vampires in there somewhere?"

Rodney grinned. "Level twenty-seven."

Ronon, Teyla, and Keller filed in, followed by Woolsey who took a seat and opened a folder. "Good morning. Let's begin." He turned to Rodney. "What do we know about M4K-837?"

"Not much." McKay turned to the room's main monitor as data filled it. "MALP shows breathable atmosphere and moderate temperature. Radiation levels are within normal ranges."

"Do we know anything about the inhabitants?" Teyla asked.

McKay shook his head. "Nothing in the database about this planet except the address. The MALP picked up an indeterminate number of life signs and an energy signature that I don't recognize."

That got John's attention. "How strong?"

"Hard to say," Rodney replied. "I couldn't pinpoint anything with the MALP, not even directionality. All I can tell you is that some kind of unknown power source is there."

Woolsey cocked a brow. "Anything to be concerned about?"

"It's an alien planet in Pegasus. What do you think?" Rodney met Woolsey's level gaze and held it, finally squirming after a minute. "Fine. As far as I can tell, it's no more dangerous than any other place we've been."

"That's not saying much," John muttered.

Rodney lifted a shoulder. "Could be worse. Could be filled with dinosaurs and volcanoes."

"Could be worse," Ronon said. "Could be infested with Iratus bugs."

John glared at them. "I hate both of you."

Once the mission briefing concluded an hour later, the team headed to the ready room to gear up. Ronon leaned against the wall twirling his blaster – the only gear he needed. John checked the pockets of his fully-supplied vest, standard procedure and a good reminder of where everything was. McKay crammed a few extra candy bars in his vest then strapped his computer tablet to his back while Teyla slipped her knife into her ankle sheath and loaded her handgun and P-90. John grabbed a radio, clipped on his P-90 and followed his team to the gateroom.

They stepped through to a planet much like most of the worlds they had visited - a carpet of green in the midst of a densely wooded forest filled with wildlife chatter. Bright rays from the mid-day sun lit the winding path that disappeared behind a knoll of rock and moss. Ronon and Teyla fanned out, scanning the perimeter, while Rodney studied his scanner. John stretched his senses, but other than a whiff of something long dead and a burbling water source nearby, he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary.

"That energy signature is faint but still there," McKay reported. "However, I can't get a lock on it." He glanced around. "It seems to be everywhere."

"Life signs?" John asked.

"Lots of them."

Ronon's fingers twitched over his blaster. "How many is lots?"

"You know, lots. Lots and lots."

"McKay," John growled.

Rodney shrugged. "The range on this thing is limited and less specific the further out I go. I'd guess somewhere upwards of ten thousand in the immediate vicinity."

"Truly?" Teyla's eyes lit. "Perhaps they will be open to trading with…less populated worlds."

John grimaced at the reminder of the havoc wreaked by Michael and the Replicators. Not to mention the lunatic Asgard. So much suffering inflicted on innocent bystanders. Rarely had John desired to murder someone, but watching the Replicator world implode and Michael plummet from the top of the tower had given him great satisfaction. God help the Asgard if they ever got within his reach.

"Sheppard?"

John shook off the reverie and met Rodney's quizzical gaze. "Yeah. Let's go see how these folks feel about trading."

Teyla took point, followed by Rodney. Ronon fell in step with John on their six.

"You okay?" Ronon asked. "'Cause you look pissed."

"I'm…" John heaved a sigh. "I am pissed," he admitted. "Teyla's people shouldn't have to sell their souls to feed their children."

"Their choice," Ronon replied. "You offered them shelter on Atlantis."

"I knew they wouldn't stay. We tried that once before. They need to see the stars and feel the ground beneath their feet." He flushed at Ronon's smirk. "That's what Halling says."

"Yeah." Ronon lifted his face to the sun and inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment then releasing it slowly. "Doesn't change that they chose to go their own way." His eyes flicked ahead to settle on Teyla. "They're tough. They'll make it."

"What about all those other worlds out there that won't?"

Ronon's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. No answer was needed. Several cultures had already become extinct and others would follow, either by dying out or being absorbed or merged into other societies. Ways of life, traditions, languages gone forever. Not something that John Sheppard of Earth would have thought much about, but John Sheppard of Atlantis, brother of Ronon and Teyla, was horrified by it. Ronon spent days searching for bits of his culture, grieving for what was lost, slowly letting go of Sateda – a special kind of pain that John didn't wish on anyone else, especially Teyla. He'd do almost anything to spare her that.

Ahead, Rodney jerked to a halt, head bowed over his scanner. John broke into a jog while Ronon whipped out his blaster and backed toward them.

"What's wrong?" John whispered, gripping his P-90 and scanning the trees and the rocky knoll they had passed.

"Huh," Rodney grunted. "Nothing, I guess." He poked at the scanner then turned in a slow circle. "It went dark for a second, but it seems to be working fine now. Must be a glitch or something."

"Has it ever happened before?" Teyla asked.

"No, but it is over ten thousand years old."

John arched a brow. "Did you change the batteries?"

"Funny." McKay checked the other devices he carried including his tablet. "Everything's working."

"Ronon?" John said.

Ronon pulled his blaster and fired. Red beams singed the air and smacked into a tree, blowing off a branch. "Works fine."

John sent Rodney a pointed look. "Make sure it's charged up or whatever before we leave next time." He lowered the muzzle of his P-90. "Let's go."

Teyla led the way up the steep hill and Ronon and McKay trudged after her. John chuckled to himself, wondering how the two men he was closest to could be so opposite. Rodney complained nonstop while he valiantly tried to keep up with the moderate pace his teammates set. Ronon curled a hand in McKay's collar, keeping him on the path and on his feet.

"John?" Teyla called. "You need to see this."

He hustled to where she was waiting at the crest of the hill. "Wow," he murmured. "McKay?"

"Already on it." Rodney was focused on his scanner. "The energy signature is still all around us." He waved at the sprawl below. "Including down there."

The city reminded John a little of Washington DC – no skyscrapers but a morass of concrete and lights that went on for miles. People milled about on sidewalks and the stoops of homes and shops. Vehicles like square open-air wagons rumbled down narrow streets, belching thick black exhaust that left a thin layer of smog hanging in the air, giving the place a grimy feel which wasn't alleviated by the piles of junk that clogged up the alleyways.

"Looks kind of like Sateda before it fell," Ronon said.

"Let's hope these folks are as friendly as you," John replied.

Ronon snorted but couldn't hide a grin as he started forward. John followed, keeping McKay between them and letting Teyla take their six. As they approached the outskirts of the city, people nodded and waved but didn't seem surprised or concerned at their appearance. They walked for a while, taking in their surroundings. Paint was peeling from the cinder blocks. Metal scrollwork had patches of rust. While the inhabitants were polite, they also had a pinched look as they strode past, their clothes a bit baggy and threadbare.

"This world seems to be in…disrepair," Teyla said.

John grinned at a boy as he raced by. "Noticed that. They're in a hurry, too."

"Sheppard." Ronon bobbed his head to the side. "Take a look at this."

John moved to where Ronon was standing. "What… Oh." He frowned at the flat, rectangular screen with flashing symbols. "What does that say?"

Ronon shrugged. "No idea."

"This language is unfamiliar to me as well," Teyla said.

"It's not a language." Rodney had on his complete focus face – eyes narrowed, brows sharply slanted, mouth twisted. "It's some kind of countdown."

John's pulse sped up. "A countdown to what?"

McKay's lips compressed into a thin white line as he shot John a flat look. "How could I possibly know that?"

"Fine," John conceded. "How long?"

Rodney tilted his head to the side as he studied the display. "About three hours, I think."

"Do you require assistance?" a feminine voice asked from behind.

John whirled, tightening his grip on his weapon but not raising it. A woman about his age, maybe a little older, in a dark green uniform stood at parade rest, gazing calmly at them. John cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and this is my team – Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay."

She inclined her head, her gray-streaked auburn hair swinging along her jaw line. "Welcome to you. Are you here to participate in The Game?"

"The game?" John parroted. "Um… Teyla, are we here for that?"

Teyla smiled warmly. "We are explorers and traders. We are here to establish relations between our people and yours for our mutual benefit."

The woman blinked at them with a blank expression. "I…see. Perhaps you should speak with Tavar Ushil."

"Great." John put on his most charming smile. "Lead the way."

After a bone-jarring ride in one of the boxes on wheels, she stopped in front of a building that was still impressive even in its shambled state. The woman hopped down, gestured them out, and trotted up the steps to a massive double door covered in chipped blue paint with flecks of dark crimson. She disappeared inside then returned moments later with an entourage.

A tall man with disheveled steel-gray hair separated from the group, tugging at the hem of his rumpled jacket. "I am Ushil, Tavar of Chelqev. Welcome to you."

Teyla nodded in respect and made introductions then asked, "Chelqev is the name of your world?"

"No, Chelqev is the name of this territory. Our world is called Mosal." His eyes flicked over each team member, lingering on their weapons. "You are not from Fomisse."

"We are from Atlantis," Teyla corrected. "We have come to meet you and your people."

"How big is your territory?" Ronon asked.

Teyla's face twitched but her smile didn't falter. "Ronon," she murmured.

But Ushil's chest and sagging jowls puffed out. "From the outer rim to the exchange district."

"Exchange?" Teyla repeated. "Is that where your people trade?"

Ushil nodded. "They are making last minute purchases before The Game begins."

Rodney held up a hand. "What game?"

Ushil's eyes widened in surprise while the people behind him squawked. "You do not know of The Game?"

John stepped forward. "Like she said, we're not from around here. We're here to get to know you, maybe establish trade."

"Trade," Ushil echoed, his bloodshot eyes fixed on John's P-90. "Few traders have come here armed as you are."

"We use our weapons only to defend ourselves," John replied.

"You said you were from Atlantis. Where is that?"

"On another world. We came here through the stargate." At the man's confused look, John added, "The big stone ring in the forest."

"Of course, the gateway." Ushil's gaze traveled over them again, slower, taking in details. "What is your function on Atlantis?"

"Ah, well, you know, a little of this, a little of that," John hedged.

Ushil pinned him with a look. "Is Lieutenant Colonel your title?"

"Yes."

"What does it signify?"

John fought the urge to squirm. Where was this guy going with this? "It's my rank."

An indefinable expression flickered across Ushil's pasty-white face. "You are a warrior, then? Perhaps the leader?"

John squared his shoulders, fed up with the interrogation. "I try to avoid war if at all possible. I'm in charge of the military contingent, but I'm not the leader of Atlantis."

"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed, beaming. "Please, come with me. I have something you will find interesting."

Stunned at the unexpected reaction, John glanced toward his team. Rodney had his face buried in his scanner while Ronon was trying to keep an eye on every person surrounding them. Teyla met John's gaze with an arched brow, her stance shouting _caution_.

John tipped his head in acknowledgement then turned back to Ushil. "I look forward to seeing it."

They followed Ushil through the doors, and his entourage crowded in behind them, murmuring and shooting unreadable looks toward John. Weak yellow lights ringed the tiny entryway and lined the halls branching off in every direction. Ushil headed down a corridor to the right then took a quick left and trotted down a set of stairs to a door that appeared as out of place as Ronon's blaster on Earth.

McKay tripped over John as he strained to get a look at it. "Not Ancient," he said softly, "but these people certainly didn't build it."

Ushil whispered into a small silver box and the door slid open, revealing a large room filled with flashing panels and dominated by a chair in the center where a squatty little man sat with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. The chair was made of an iridescent substance and glowed a deep purple that lightened then turned red as his breaths sped up.

His eyes flew open and he ripped off a small disc that had been adhered to his temple. "It's still wrong, Morha! We've got less than two hours—"

"Kespre," Ushil interrupted, "we have guests."

Kespre whipped his bald head toward them then hopped out of the chair. "Tavar Ushil, my apologies. I didn't realize. We will be ready in time." He turned to the team. "Welcome to you."

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and his team. He is the military commander of his world." Ushil smiled at John.

"Indeed?" Kespre's eyes flicked over John. "Are you here to participate? We could use—"

"Kespre is our head engineer. He keeps The Game in top condition," Ushil said.

"Could you explain what this game is?" Teyla requested.

"Of course." Ushil dismissed Kespre who climbed back into the chair. "Our people prize competition." He moved toward a bank of monitors. "We found this facility many years ago when we came to this world. The Fomisse territory has one as well. At the solstice, The Game begins. Whoever is in the chair controls the forces of the territory. He guides his people through enemy territory through the interface," he tapped his temple, "with the goal of capturing the enemy's headquarters. We follow the action with these." Ushil held up a pair of glasses then extended them to John. "Would you like to see?"

John took the glasses, turning them over in his hands. Lightweight blue lenses in a charcoal gray frame that was neither plastic nor metal. When his hands tingled, he realized with a jolt that the glasses were warm and vibrating slightly. He held them to the light and peered through the lenses but couldn't see anything.

"There is no action currently," Ushil said, "but you can see what the participants are seeing if you put them on." He slid on a pair and offered others to Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney.

John shot a glance at his team. Rodney was scrutinizing his pair, eying the earpieces and joints. Teyla smiled politely and cradled hers in her hands. Ronon jammed his on his face.

"Cool," he pronounced.

John ran his fingertips over the earpieces but didn't feel any sharp edges or indentations. Taking a deep breath, he put them on.

The lenses became opaque and the city sprang to life before him in glorious color. The stench of rotting garbage and noxious vehicle fumes made his eyes water, and he jumped when a horn honked behind him. The view shifted and blurred until an angry man driving an overloaded wagon came into focus.

"_Get out of the way, shelreq!_" he shouted, waving a fist. "_I have deliveries to make before The Game starts!_"

The view bounced to the side then to the ground as the vehicle rumbled by. Suddenly the driver yelped and reached for his head as a rock bounced off it and clattered to the ground. He whirled then paled as he gaped, seemingly at the camera.

"_My apologies_," he stammered. "_I didn't know_."

"_Go._" The voice was in stereo, like it was coming from inside John's head. "_Do not make such a mistake again._"

The man nodded and raced away. The view shifted again, moving forward at a rapid pace, around corners and down streets. As it eventually passed the cracked window of a building, John caught a glimpse of a man – broad, tall, with matted hair and dusty clothes that could have belonged to Ronon.

John pulled the glasses off and stared at them, feeling suddenly bereft. Why was his heart pounding? Why was the euphoria of a runner's high flooding through him?

"What did you think?" Ushil asked.

"Um… I'm a little confused, I guess," John answered. "You said I seeing through the eyes of a participant. Where is he?"

"He could be anywhere in the city," Ushil replied. "Each participant has been assigned a starting position so I'm sure he was making his way there. The glasses allow you to see them as they make their preparations. The Game decides which one you are following. Your friends are most likely viewing through someone else's eyes."

"Wow," Rodney whispered. His fists were clenched at his side and sweat trickled down his face. "That's…" He swallowed thickly. "Aw, come on." He jerked off the glasses. "Spoilsport."

"What the hell were you watching?" John asked.

McKay flushed scarlet. "Never mind." He turned to Ushil. "Are these picking up some kind of transmission?"

"Yes. The participants wear a disc that broadcasts what they are experiencing, like the one Kespre has."

Rodney poked at the lenses again. "How does it transmit the sounds and smells?"

Ushil smiled apologetically. "I don't know. Kespre would be better suited to answer your questions when he finishes his tests." He turned to John. "Perhaps you would like to be a participant?"

John stroked the glasses, fighting the urge to put them back on. "You mean fight?" He shook his head. "We don't get involved in internal disputes."

Ushil laughed. "There is no dispute. We are simply playing a game."

Rodney had slipped the glasses back on and had stuffed himself in a corner, arms crossed. Teyla was seated, spine rigid, lost in whatever she was seeing, while Ronon leaned against a wall, fist tapping to a beat only he could hear.

"Um, well…" John stuffed the glasses in his pants pocket.

Ushil stepped closer. "We value knowledge, John Sheppard, especially tactics and strategy." His gaze flicked to Teyla. "Perhaps we could offer some of our crops in exchange for your participation."

"What would I have to do?"

"The choice is yours – either control The Game from the chair or join our team in the play zone. But be warned, the Controller for Fomisse is a master strategist. We have won a few battles but have conceded defeat every time." Ushil's eyes gleamed. "We hope for a victory this time."

"Thirty minutes," Kespre announced.

Stunned, John checked his watch. How could that much time have passed? He'd only used the glasses for a few minutes. Hadn't he? When had Kespre moved from the chair to a console? John pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache began to throb behind his right eye.

"So, I just have to move some folks around on a grid to capture some territory?"

Ushil's expression bordered on mania. "Exactly."

"How? I mean, how do I move them?"

"Kespre?" Ushil called.

"The Game will show you how the territory is divided and where all of the participants are," Kespre explained. "Our people are blue; Fomisse's players are green. The goal is to capture the other side's headquarters which will glow brighter than the rest of the territory. Simply study the grid and decide which squad you want to move and where they are going. The Game does the rest."

John fingered the glasses in his pocket, soaking in the enticing warm tingle. "What do the participants do? They are real people, right?"

"The participants are given the instructions on what territory to take and how to get there," Kespre said. "How they do it is up to them. They—"

"They provide us with hours of exhilarating entertainment," Ushil cut in.

"So, they are performers, not soldiers?" John asked.

"As I said, this is a game. We don't have an army." Ushil's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Many participants have developed certain skills over the years, but we have no formal training program."

John's brain seemed to be two steps behind his body and moving too slow to ever catch up, but the one thought that kept returning was the offer of trade. The Athosians were struggling to survive. What was an hour or two of playing a game compared to relieving some of the suffering the horror that was Michael had caused? John had spent more time than that on Rodney's video game project.

"Okay," John said finally. "I'll do that controller thing, but I can't stay long."

"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed. "We are happy to take what we can get. Kespre?"

Kespre hesitated, locking gazes with Ushil for a moment, and then he nodded. "Be seated, please."

John rubbed his eye again, wishing away the growing ache, and gripped the arm of the chair. He gasped as a warm vibration raced from his fingers to his shoulder, similar to but more powerful than the glasses. He eased himself into the seat and sighed as a tingle burrowed into the small of his back, danced up his spine and nestled in the base of his skull. God, he felt good. His body shook from the rush of endorphins, and he barely noticed the prick at his temple or the pinch in the crook of his arm as images flooded into his mind – the city, its sectors, the players and observers, nooks, crannies, empty buildings and safe zones. His brain began to sort hiding places from ambush sites, noting the pulsing blue of his players and the throbbing green of the other. As The Game took over all his senses, the room, the people, and his team faded away to nothing.

xxx

"Sheppard?"

John's eyes fluttered open at the hesitant whisper. McKay hovered inches from his face, eyes huge in a dirty face that hadn't been shaven in quite a while.

"Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead."

John worked his jaw, but no words would come out.

"Don't try to talk," McKay said. "We're on the Daedalus, about two hours out from Atlantis, and before you ask, I'm fine and so are Ronon and Teyla. A little beat up, but," Rodney's face twisted in anger, "in better condition than you. They're sleeping in the next room." He held up a cup. "Water?"

John tried to nod.

"No, no. Don't move either." He held the cup to John's lips. "Small sips. It's been a while."

John shivered as the cold liquid seeped over his parched tongue and down his throat. His stomach constricted when the water hit it, and when he coughed involuntarily, Rodney yanked the cup away.

"_More_," John mouthed.

"Give it a chance to settle," McKay replied. "Believe me, you really don't want it to come back up." He pulled his chair close. "The doctor will be back in a minute. What do you remember?"

John's brows drew together at the lack of memory. "Sat in a chair," he finally whispered.

"You've really got to stop doing that." Rodney sighed. "That was over a month ago, John."

"Can't be."

Rodney offered the cup again. "I'm afraid so," he said as John took another sip. "I know it doesn't seem possible, but Caldwell says Atlantis lost contact with us forty-two days ago. They came to the planet, but they couldn't get through the shield that was protecting the city. I guess it's some kind of safeguard for when The Game is in session which is actually rather fascinating and might explain why my equipment blinked out if we crossed the—"

"McKay."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, I don't know how long I watched The Game – for quite a while because several battles happened before I got taken."

John frowned. "Taken?"

"Yeah. One minute I'm watching a horde of crazy people beat each other to death; the next I'm running for my life down an alleyway with Ronon and Teyla." McKay sagged in his seat. "I thought it was a really cool VR until I was part of it. I was making mental notes on how to improve the game I was making for Sam. Then they yanked my glasses off, slapped some disc on my head, and tossed me into the street in the middle of one of those insane free-for-alls. We didn't have any other choice but to run."

"Where was I?"

Rodney raked his fingers through his hair. "We think you were controlling The Game. The Daedalus located your sub-cu transmitter in a different part of the city from us." He glanced up, emotion shining in his eyes. "You don't remember anything?"

John shook his head.

"You were strapped down and had needles in your arms." Rodney swallowed thickly, looking a little green. "The nurses bandaged the ligature marks on your wrists and ankles, but you can see the track marks from the IVs. The doctor thinks they used some kind of nutrient drip to keep you alive."

John blinked at Rodney, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He'd been strapped in a chair for a month? Why couldn't he remember? He struggled to sit up, willed his arms to push him up, but nothing happened. Why wouldn't his body respond to his commands? His breath caught in his throat. Was he paralyzed?

"Easy, Sheppard."

Rodney gripped his shoulders, and he felt it. He felt the bandages on his wrists, the sheet over his body, the catheter, the IVs, the pulse ox clip. He closed his eyes and concentrated, heaving a sigh when he felt the bed rail against the sole of his foot. Not paralyzed then.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Ah, Colonel, good to see you back with us." The CMO of the Daedalus strode in and eyed Rodney with a frown. "Doctor McKay, I thought you were headed to the shower and the Mess."

Rodney drew to his full height and stared down his nose at the doctor. "I told you yesterday I would go when Sheppard woke up."

"Well, he's awake."

Rodney's chin jerked up as he folded his arms over his chest. "Powerful observation skills you have there. Did they teach you that in medical school?"

"McKay," John said.

Rodney glanced down, gnawing on his bottom lip, fear flicking in his eyes. "I'm not sure…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Rodney. Go get cleaned up."

McKay nodded and trudged out the door. A minute later, while the doctor was checking John's vitals, Ronon walked in. His jaw tightened when he saw John then he plastered on a grin and dropped into Rodney's chair.

"Hey."

John offered a wan smile as exhaustion suddenly crushed him. "Hey, big guy. How are you?"

Ronon had a bandage on his forehead and his hand was splinted and wrapped. "Fine. You?"

"Not sure yet." John turned his gaze to the doctor. "What's the verdict?"

The doctor held up a finger while he finished annotating John's chart, and then he looked up. "You're alive and will recover fully which is the most important part. That being said, you are malnourished, your muscles have atrophied from disuse over the last few weeks, and you are suffering from some kind of neurological shock that I've never seen before."

"Is that why I can't remember anything?"

The doctor shrugged. "Maybe. All of your team had symptoms, but yours were much worse. It could be that as your brain reverts to normal your memory will return."

"Why can't I move?"

"That's the muscle atrophy. Doctor Keller will know more, but I'd estimate that you've lost between ten and fifteen percent of your muscle mass, and about thirty pounds altogether. You have a vitamin deficiency, and your bones may be a bit more brittle than usual. We'll need to monitor your blood pressure as your body readjusts to being upright. You have some bed sores that need care, and we'll have to reintroduce your body to food."

John sighed. "Don't hold anything back."

The doctor smiled in sympathy. "I haven't even gotten to the sleep cycle and balance issues or the need for physical therapy." He patted John's arm. "What I'm trying to say, Colonel, is that you're not going to bounce back right away. It's going to take some time for you to fully recover, and you need to recognize that." He glanced at Ronon. "All of you."

Ronon spread his hands. "What?"

"Let's just say that your drive to get back on your feet fast is well known. Do what you're capable of, but recognize your limits. If you push too far, you could really hurt yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," John said.

The doctor stared at Ronon until he nodded in agreement. "Good," the doctor said. "Get some rest, Colonel. You'll be home soon."

John's lids slid closed on their own accord, and he forced them open to look at Ronon. "Give it to me straight."

"You look like hell. That straight enough?"

John huffed a laugh. "I guess so. What really happened?"

Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. I lost track of time, but we were in the fight for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks? What did you survive on?"

"Whatever we could find." Ronon shrugged. "Running was sort of like this. Eat when you can; sleep when you can. McKay got over digging through the garbage for food after the first two days. One of us slept while the other two stood watch."

"Unbelievable."

"Seems like the whole city was the battleground so sometimes we'd go days without seeing or hearing any of the fighting, but when we did…" Ronon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It was brutal, Sheppard. I've seen a lot of battles, but those people…" He stared down at his hands. "We avoided as much of the fighting as we could, but sometimes we had to." He clenched his fists and scraped them down his pants legs. "We were trying to get to you."

"You stayed alive. That's all that matters," John whispered as sleep tugged at him. "Good job not dying."

Ronon chuckled. John smiled and let sleep take him.

xxx

_He flattened against a pockmarked wall then peeked around the corner. Clear. He slithered along the crumbled remains of a building, ducking behind the burned out hulls of overturned vehicles. His heart hammered so loud he could barely hear himself think and his left knee was practically useless. He dropped heavily as the sound of pounding boots echoed in the deserted street, his eyes seeking refuge. Useless. He had no place left to hide. His men were dead, and he wouldn't make it to the end of the block._

"_There!" a voice cried._

_He struggled to his feet, but they were on him before he reached the curb. Strong arms slammed him to the ground and dirty faces sneered down at him. Steel flashed as the enemy leader raised the sword high._

"_For Fomisse!"_

_The blade plunged deep into his chest, the pain so great that he could only gasp. He arched up, his mouth open in a wordless scream as his enemy ripped the sword out and drove it in again._

"John! Breathe!"

His eyes flew open as the nightmare fled away, but he couldn't catch his breath. Alarms blared and vague forms fluttered around him. John tried to move, but his limbs were lifeless. His vision grayed; black spots danced before him.

"Colonel Sheppard, look at me." Keller's nose was practically touching his. "I need you to calm down. Can you do that?"

John blinked at her, desperately praying for oxygen.

"I know you can't breathe. Relaxing will help that." She glanced to the side. "Someone turn off those alarms."

The room got quiet.

"Keep your eyes on me, John," Keller said. "Now, blow out. I know it feels like you don't have any air to do that, but you do. Blow out like this." She pursed her lips and cool air brushed over John's face. "Try."

He mimicked her and the heaviness in his chest lifted a little.

"Good. Breathe with me." She inhaled then exhaled loudly. "Come on."

John kept his eyes on hers as he matched her breathing. After a minute, his vision cleared and he slumped, exhausted.

Keller's eyes flicked behind him. "Blood pressure returning to normal. Good." She patted his shoulder and smiled. "Welcome home, Colonel. Don't scare me like that again."

"Sorry," John whispered, his heartbeat slowing to its natural rhythm. "How long have I been here?"

"A few hours." Keller checked his vitals, nodding and hmmming along the way. "I'd like to change the bandages now. You up for that?"

John shrugged. "Guess so."

She unwound the gauze around his wrists and studied the reddened flesh. "Better than I was anticipating. Skin isn't broken, just rubbed a little raw. I don't think we'll replace these." She tossed the bandage on the floor then removed the ones on his other wrist and ankles. "How are your legs feeling?"

"Fine. Why?"

"I'm going to roll you on your side to check the sores on your back, okay?"

"Yeah." The world spun dizzyingly as she shifted him onto his right side. He clenched his eyes shut and concentrated on not throwing up.

"Vertigo?" At his nod, she patted his shoulder. "Hang in there. It will get better once we get you on your feet again." A draft blew down his back then strong fingers were pressing on tender areas on his back, hips, and legs. "From the location of these sores, we think you've been in a seated position the entire time you were gone. You'll probably have some cramping in your legs due to poor circulation. Again, that will improve once we have you walking." After applying cool cream and fresh bandages, Keller eased him onto his back. "Want to try raising the head of the bed?"

"That would be great." John closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over him when the bed inclined. "How am I doing?"

Keller gave him a genuine smile. "Really good, considering." She glanced up when the door opened and Teyla entered carrying a tray. "Are you up for something to eat?"

And just like that, he was famished. "Oh, yeah." He sniffed the air. "Soup?"

"I'm afraid so, Colonel," Keller replied. "For now. Remember, you haven't had food in your stomach for a while. Ease into it."

Teyla set the tray down as Keller left, and then pressed her forehead to his. "It is good to see you." Her voice was husky with emotion.

"Good to be seen." John gave a shaky smile and managed to lean forward enough to peer into the bowl. "Not tuttleroot?"

Teyla blushed and shook her head as she settled on the edge of the bed. "I would not inflict that upon you. Corporal Yasov said it was chicken broth." She pulled the tray table to his chest then dipped the spoon in the soup and offered it to him.

"My favorite," he deadpanned.

He accepted the sip and was surprised when the liquid burst with flavor over his tongue and coated his throat and insides with warmth.

"Good?" Teyla asked.

"Yeah." So good that he almost forgot to be embarrassed that he couldn't hold the spoon himself. Almost.

Teyla lifted the spoon to his mouth again. "Jennifer says you will be fine after you gain weight and build up your muscles again."

John swallowed, relishing the tang of salt. "Looking forward to that." He drank the water she offered then sipped more broth. "What happened on that planet?"

The spoon shook in her hand before she steadied it and held it to his lips. "I don't know that I can tell you more than Rodney and Ronon already have." But she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I had this dream, Teyla, but it felt like more than a dream. It felt real. I was running down a street and a guy attacked me with a sword." He glanced down at his chest. "I'm obviously not dead."

Teyla pushed off the bed, standing with her back to him. "The Chelqev attached something to our temples before they cast us into the city. We could hear the orders being given – where to go and how to attack." She turned to face him. "It was your voice I heard, John. I believe you were coordinating the battle."

"But how could I… Oh." The tightness in his chest was returning. "If you were connected to me, then I was connected to you. I would have to know how the battles were going in order to formulate the next attack."

A city grid flashed in his mind, filled with blue and green life signs that pulsed, merged, faded into nothingness. He tasted blood, smelled death, heard the screams of the injured and dying as he watched each battle through the eyes of a participant. One goal – capture enemy headquarters no matter the cost. No rules.

"John!"

Teyla gripped his face in her hands, her eyes wide with panic.

"Those people, they— I…" He sucked in a painful breath. "God, Teyla. What did I do?"

xxx

"Great job, Colonel." Jay, his physical therapist, took the two pound barbells from his hands. "Want to give standing a try?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

Jay lowered the bedrail, swung John's legs over the side, and wrapped an arm around his back. "Slow and easy. Ready?"

John nodded and leaned forward as Jay pulled him up. His knees buckled and his head swam, but he was upright, damn it. "I'd really like a shower."

"I bet," Jay said. "Not today, though. If you keep up your exercises, you'll be able to get around on your own in a week or so."

"A week?" The protest sounded weak even to John's ears. He was already so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

Jay laughed softly as he helped John back to bed. "We're moving to the pool in a couple of days. That's almost as good as a shower."

"My swim trunks won't fit," John mumbled. "Too big."

"Don't worry, Colonel. We'll figure it out."

John yawned and leaned back against the pillow, intending to rest his eyes for a quick minute before McKay showed up with lunch.

_He crept over the rooftop, keeping his prey in sight. His clothes were blood soaked and his muscles were weary, but the drive for victory, the lust for the fight, still raged through his veins. He slipped to the gutter pipe and slid to the ground, touching down silently a few feet behind the woman. She froze, her head twisting side to side, searching for him, but the shadows hid him from her._

_When she turned away from him, he pounced. She had anticipated his move and swiveled to fight, but he had the advantage of size and momentum. She hit the ground hard, her head smacking the concrete with a sickening thud. He landed on top and pinned her down. She struggled weakly under him, snarling curses and promises of vengeance._

_He laughed harshly. "For Chelqev."_

_His fingers tightened around her neck and he felt a smile curve his lips as her eyes bulged. Bloodlust roared through him and he pressed harder._

"Sheppard, stop!" Rodney pleaded.

Fingernails clawed at his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

John blinked rapidly as his vision cleared. The high of the kill hadn't dissipated yet, and his fingers were digging into McKay's neck. Rodney's pulse was thumping wildly against his palm, and he squeezed involuntarily before the horror caught up with him. He let go and McKay jerked away.

"Rodney, I…" His stomach rolled as he fought back the feelings that were boiling inside him, feelings that weren't his.

McKay rubbed his throat gingerly. "Yeah, um, what was that?"

"Nightmare," John whispered, eyes closed and head back.

"Hell of a nightmare. Who did you think I was?"

The woman's face flashed in his mind, her eyes wide with fear, and a thrill shot through him. Bile flooded the back of his throat, and he leaned over the side of the bed and heaved.

"Ewww." McKay patted his back awkwardly. "Please tell me the call button is on this side. Oh, good. Got it."

John clung to the bedrail, shaking, then heaved again.

Footsteps approached, but John couldn't hold his head up enough to see who it was.

"What happened?" Keller demanded as she gently pulled John back.

"He was having a nightmare then he got sick," Rodney explained.

Keller pulled a towel from a drawer, wet it, and wiped John's face and chin. He relaxed against the pillow, breathing through his mouth and imagining himself inside a Blackhawk, mentally reciting what each knob and lever did.

"That's all?" Keller asked.

"What else would there be?" Rodney's chin lifted and his hands fluttered in his I'm-obviously-lying body language, but Keller didn't call him on it.

"How are you doing, Colonel?"

"Been better," John answered.

Keller glanced between them then held John's cup of water to his lips. "Swish a little in your mouth to get rid of the taste while I get someone to clean this up." John sipped obediently while she stepped away to call for an orderly.

Rodney took a hesitant step forward after she left. "I brought you lunch."

John groaned. "Not hungry."

"Yeah, didn't think so." McKay dragged a chair over. "You okay?"

"Fine." John stared at the ceiling, wondering who had done the slightly obscene drawing there and if Keller had ever noticed. "Did I hurt you?"

"What? As weak as… No, you didn't. I'm fine." Rodney shifted in his seat then cleared his throat. "You want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Good. I mean, uh…"

John shook his head. "I know what you mean, McKay."

"Oh." Rodney brightened and leaned forward. "You'll never guess who I spotted making out on the balcony last night."

John shivered when the woman's face flashed again. He dug his fingernails into his palms and focused on the pain to keep his mind away from the warm satisfaction her dead eyes gave him.

xxx

"I'm going to the bathroom whether you help me or not," John snapped. "Even if I have to crawl." When Ronon simply stared at him, John forced himself to relax a little. "Helping would be better."

"What did the doc say?"

"To do as much as I was capable of. And I'm capable of going to the bathroom by myself. I just need a little help getting there. My balance is still off. " He refused to beg, but he wasn't above whining. "Come on, Ronon. I've been stuck in this bed for days."

Ronon studied him for a moment then must have decided he was telling the truth. "Okay."

John pushed the sheet back then slowly eased his legs over the side. Ronon pulled him to his feet and caught him around the waist when the room tilted wildly. He clutched Ronon's side until the dizziness died down to a tolerable level then took a tentative step. His legs quivered like jelly but they held. Another step and his heart started to pound. John zeroed in on the bathroom door five more steps away. He could do this. His left foot slid forward again followed by his right. Sweat popped out along his hairline. Another left and right, and he could touch the door. He sucked in a deep breath and took the final step into the bathroom.

"I've got it from here," John said, pretending he wasn't panting for air.

"You sure?" Ronon's expression held neither pity nor concern. "Everybody needs help sometimes."

"I know." John hoped Ronon could tell how grateful he was. "I'll call if I need you."

Ronon nodded and closed the door.

John took care of business before his legs gave out then leaned against the sink and stared at the face in the mirror. While the sheet and blankets had covered most of his body, he'd noticed his arms were slimmer, and he couldn't deny how weak he was or how five sips of broth filled his stomach, but his reflection was the first time he'd really been able to see the harsh reality of what a month of captivity had done. A thick beard covered his mouth and jaw, highlighting his sunken eyes and the skin pulled tight over his cheeks. He was jaundiced, and his gums and inner eyelids were so pale they were almost white. His collarbone had always been prominent, but now the bones rose starkly through the neck of his hospital gown.

A month of his life gone. Vanished without him knowing, taking his health with it. He splashed water on his face, cursing his shaking hand, his feeble body, and the people who had done this to him. The nightmares weren't doing him any favors in the healing department – stealing his sleep and causing him to regurgitate the little food he consumed.

"No more," he vowed to the thin, angry man in the mirror.

He would take the sleeping pills Keller offered, would follow her orders to the letter. He'd eat all his stomach would hold whether he felt like it or not. He'd lift every weight, take every step, swim every lap, do whatever Jay and the other therapists said – he sighed as his legs trembled – starting with asking for help.

"Hey, Ronon," John called, grinning as the door opened. "Quit standing there and help me back to bed." He accepted Ronon's arm and took a careful step. "Do you think you could help me get rid of this beard?"

"I've got the perfect knife for it."

"I knew you would."

They were halfway to the bed when the cramps started. John doubled over as first his right calf then his left knotted painfully. Ronon stumbled and tightened his grip until John thought his ribs would break.

"What's wrong?" Ronon asked.

"Cramps," John gasped, trying to knead the rock-hard mass.

Ronon swept him up and deposited him on the bed before he had time to be insulted. John curled on his side and pushed weakly on the seizing muscles.

"Let me," Ronon said as he swatted John's hands away. "Nurse will be here in a second."

John buried his face in the pillow as Ronon massaged his calves, thumbs pressing deep into the knotted muscles. It hurt as much as it helped, and John didn't get any real relief until the nurse injected something wonderful into his IV. As the relaxant took hold and Ronon continued to smooth the knots out, John melted into the bed and let his lids slide shut.

_He stumbled, scraping knees and elbows, his heart slamming against his ribs. Pure panic stole his breath as he darted forward and dove through the hole in the fence, ignoring the slice of rusty metal over his shoulder and down his back. He risked a glance back at the empty street then scuttled under a stack of empty pallets. The screams of his team echoed in the alley and he clapped his hands over his ears to block out the sound. A slit in the wood offered a glimpse of the street, and he cringed as one of his teammates tripped and landed face down near the tear in the fence._

_The enemy shouted in triumph as they descended on the fallen man, kicking and punching and beating until he lay unmoving._

_One opponent frowned and glanced around in confusion. "The round continues. There must be one left. Find him."_

_He curled into a tight ball and wrapped his arms over his head as the enemy spread out and searched. One man kicked at the fence then ducked through and stalked around the alley._

"_I know you're here, coward. The air is filled with the stench of your fear."_

_He bit his lip until it bled, trembling as the footsteps grew closer. The rotted wood near his head cracked and splintered when a boot slammed through it, and he yelped and scrambled back. _

_The man stared down at him, his mouth twisted in disgust. "If killing you wasn't necessary to end the round, I wouldn't waste my energy."_

_He turned his face away. "Please," he begged. "Let me go."_

"_Get up," the man growled._

"_No! There has to be a way." He clutched at the man's filthy tunic. "Please!"_

_The man kicked him off and stepped back. "Chelqev has reached its limits if you are the best she has to offer." He picked up a rusty pipe and gripped it like a baseball bat. "For Fomisse."_

_The first blow smashed into his spine, and he flung himself at the man's feet, wailing._

John jerked awake as the sob caught in his throat. He rolled onto his other side and curled up, hugging his arms to his chest and wiping his tear-slicked face on his pillow. What was wrong with him? He'd been afraid before, but not like this. His mouth was parched from the terror that still made his pulse race, but when he reached for his cup of water, his hand shook so badly that he tucked it back under his arm in embarrassment.

"Colonel, are you okay?" Keller asked from behind him. "I thought I heard shouting."

John flinched when she spoke and instinctively cowered away from her until he realized what he was doing. Disgusted with the alien emotions, he relaxed but kept his face turned away. "I'm fine, Doc. Just a bad dream."

Keller squeezed his arm gently. "I'd like to check a couple of things if you're up to it."

John eased onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay."

She raised the head of the bed and ran through the normal check of his temperature, pulse and blood pressure then she handed him a plastic tube attached to a cylinder with marked measurements.

"This will measure lung function. Take a deep breath and blow slowly into the mouthpiece."

He did as directed, and a small piece of black plastic floated halfway up the cylinder and hung there for a few seconds.

"Good," Keller said. "We don't want pneumonia or any other respiratory illness to set in. I want you to do that every few hours." She took the tube away and held her hands up, palms facing him. "Now, put your hands against mine and push as hard as you can."

John complied, pushing until his arms quivered and sweat beaded on his forehead. Keller barely moved.

"Okay." She moved to the end of the bed and uncovered his feet. "Let's do the same thing."

He curled his fingers around the bed rails and strained to lift his legs high enough to press his feet against her hands. He pushed against her hands as hard as he could, frustrated when his legs fell to the bed after a minute.

Keller typed her findings into his chart, her features schooled to a perfect neutral. "One more thing, Colonel. I'd like to get your weight. Give me a second to grab the scale." She ducked into the next room then hurried back with the rolling scale in tow. "Ready?"

He nodded and let her help him to his feet. The digital readout flashed a couple of times then settled on 142.

Disbelief rocked him. "That can't be right."

Keller helped him back into bed. "You've actually gained a pound. However," she leaned against the nightstand, "you aren't progressing as well as I'd hoped. Your food intake isn't as much as I'd like, and you don't appear rested." She cocked her head to the side. "How bad are those nightmares?"

John plucked at the sheets, suddenly fascinated with the calluses on his palm. "Pretty bad."

"Would you like something to help you sleep?"

He had made himself a promise. "Yeah."

"Oh." She blinked in surprise. "Okay. Do you want it now or wait until the night cycle starts?"

"Um, what time is it?"

"Almost three in the afternoon."

"I'll wait." He looked past her to the empty chair by his bedside.

"Teyla was here, but she got called away a few minutes ago." Keller chuckled. "Apparently Torren is teething, and she forgot to put the soothing gel in his daycare bag. I'm sure she'll be back any moment."

John flushed, chagrined at having been so obvious. Then again, the chair was rarely vacant. Sometimes he forgot how fortunate he was.

xxx

A shower, finally. John gripped the handrails and pulled himself into the stall, basking in the flow of warm water over his skin. He bowed his head and let the water soak through his grimy, too-long hair to his scalp. Leaning against the tile, he squirted shampoo into his hands and scrubbed his head until his hands ached. The soap, a concoction of Ronon's that always made John think of autumn and campfires, rinsed the stench of ointment, antiseptic and stale sweat from his body, and for a minute he was Colonel Sheppard again.

Then the world tilted and he was in a dingy room on that planet.

_Dust made him sneeze. Metal clanged in the hall. He darted out and caught the shadow of a man vanishing in the next room. He gave chase. The man, badly beaten and stumbling like a drunk, crashed into the far wall and staggered into the corner._

_He approached slowly, pity welling inside as the man struggled to stay on his feet. He clenched his fingers, his knuckles bloodied and swollen then pulled back and slammed a fist into the man's face. The man swung clumsily before collapsing to the floor. He rubbed his aching hand and kicked as hard as he could. He felt the man's ribs give. He braced himself and kicked again._

Wet hands slid on the tile. John flailed as the flashback fled away, but his balance was too far gone. He toppled sideways, out of the stall and onto the hard floor. He tried to catch himself, throwing his hands out. His weight came down on his left arm, and he howled as pain exploded when his wrist snapped.

"Sheppard?" Rodney threw open the door and only hesitated for a second before barging in. "What hap— Never mind." He covered John with a towel, pressed the call button, and turned off the water. "Are you hurt?"

"M-my wrist." John had never realized how cold the floor was. "F-f-freezing."

Rodney wrung his hands and glanced out the door. "Yeah, I bet. Um, I'm probably not supposed to move you."

"B-broke my wrist not my neck, McKay." John tried to push up with his right arm, but his body was done. "Get me up."

"Oh, okay." Rodney knelt on John's right and slid his arm under John's back. "Ready?"

"Y-yeah." John cradled his left arm in his right, grunting as jolts of pain shot down his hand and up to his shoulder when Rodney sat him up. "Give me a second," he panted.

"What are you doing?" Keller demanded as she and a nurse crowded in.

Rodney's shoulders slumped. "Helping?"

"I asked him to," John said. "I fell."

Keller ran a professional eye over him. "Where are you hurt?"

"Just my wrist." John shivered and his teeth chattered. "Can we hurry this up?"

The nurse pushed a wheelchair in and the three of them got John up and settled with some of his dignity still intact.

Keller wheeled him to his bed, shooed Rodney out, and drew the privacy curtain. "We need to get you warm and dry first. Would you prefer me to call Jay?"

John sighed and shook his head. "It's okay, Doc. You've seen me in worse condition." He glanced down at his thin chest and his bony knees sticking out from under the towel draped around his waist. "Though I'm not sure when."

She laughed as she pulled a towel from the bed stand drawer. "Would you like that list alphabetically or chronologically?" She deftly dried his back, arms, and chest and tied a fresh gown on. "How do you feel about standing?"

"I like standing as a general rule. I'm just not very good at it right now." John took the towel from her and rubbed it briskly over his head. "I'm willing to try."

"No, if you don't feel steady, then I want to call someone."

"I can do it," Rodney called.

Keller peeked around the curtain. "I thought I told you to take a break."

"Did you? I must have I missed that."

John rolled his eyes. "You really suck at lying, McKay."

"Do not."

Keller pulled back the curtain. "Yes, you do. Now, get over here and help me."

Rodney slid his arm behind John's back. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

John clutched Rodney's shoulder as McKay pulled him up. Keller rolled the chair away then guided John toward the bed. Rodney eased him down and Keller swung his legs up. John slumped back against the pillow, exhausted and humiliated.

"I'll be back in a minute with a wrist cast and the scanner," Keller said. "I want to make sure you didn't fracture anything else."

John nodded absently, not realizing that McKay had stayed behind until the chair scraped across the floor. He glanced up, suddenly angry at the concern in Rodney's eyes. "Look, I'm fine, okay? I don't need a babysitter."

McKay blinked then sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Good, because I hate babysitting."

"Rodney—"

"Caldwell has people on the planet."

John blinked at him. "What?"

"After they got us back here, Daedalus went back to figure out what was going on. Now that they know how to penetrate the shield, of course. That's why it took so long to rescue us. It wouldn't have taken so long if I'd been there." Rodney flapped a hand. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to tell you, but I thought maybe it would, you know, help you to know that they're trying to figure out what happened."

John smiled politely when Keller walked in, nodding and making chitchat while she wrapped his wrist and wheeled the Ancient scanner around him. Satisfied that the rest of his bones were intact, she injected pain meds, patted his knee and left.

"Radek is with them," McKay continued. "He says that ripping you out of there did as much damage to their 'game' as it did to you." Rodney grimaced. "Well, in a strictly technical sense anyway. The control room is hosed, most of the participants are dead, and the viewers seem shell shocked. Apparently that neuroshock we got included a little bit of withdrawal. Damn glasses were addictive."

The memory of the warm tingle down his spine came to mind. "The chair, too, I think," John said. "Why weren't you supposed to tell me?"

Rodney shrugged. "Keller and Go… um, Goshen? Gooseberry? You know, the new shrink."

"Gotleib?"

"Yeah, him. They thought it might upset you or get your hopes up or something. The other territory—"

"Fomisse." A foul taste flooded John's mouth, and the odor of burning rubber filled his nostrils. Gotleib had told him to expect the flashbacks to come and go, but that accepting his role and not blaming himself for it would help them fade faster. John was still working on the last part.

"Sheppard?"

John fought off the memory and took a couple of deep breaths. "Yeah."

McKay observed him for a second then leaned forward. "Fomisse agreed today to let Radek study their controls, and he found some logs from the creators. The Game is actually a battle simulator. The discs the participants wear transmit their physical and emotional state. Originally they used some type of laser gun that shut off the disc to make the participant 'dead' to the system. Once a squad was dead…"

"The round ended." John sighed and closed his eyes. "Now they have to actually die."

"Radek thinks the creators had a slightly different physiology from us, that the equipment wasn't addictive to them." Rodney held John's eyes. "And that the feedback from the discs didn't go to the controller. Zelenka thinks the data pathways got corrupted."

"It's so real," John whispered. "It's like I become them."

Rodney's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can feel what they're feeling, smell the…" John suddenly realized he was talking out loud. He cleared his throat and glanced away.

"Smell the rotting garbage and the blood?" Rodney grimaced in revulsion. "I wake up with that stench all around me." He sat back, his eyes losing focus. "But what really sets me off is the sound of water running." A flush crept up his neck. "I know that's stupid, but we spent most of one day hiding in a drainage pipe. A really, really small one." His breath hitched and he shivered. "Water trickled through it constantly. I hate to even wash my hands now, and you know how I feel about germs."

"What are you going to do?" John asked.

Rodney glanced at his hands. "Keep trying. Goshen—"

"Gotleib."

"Whatever. He says eventually my mind will associate the sound with cleanliness like it used to. I hope it hurries." Rodney grinned. "I miss my bathtub."

"I don't even want to know." John narrowed his eyes. "Wait a second. Weren't you standing outside the door when I was in the shower?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Couldn't you hear the water running?"

"I guess," Rodney said. "What's your point?"

John's brow wrinkled in confusion. "The sound didn't bother you?"

Rodney flushed again but didn't look away. "Some things are more important."

xxx

As the days turned into weeks, the nightmares and flashbacks began to dissipate, but John didn't really begin to improve until he stopped pushing himself so hard. He swam his laps with Ronon and admitted when he got tired. He suffered through bowl after bowl of chicken broth and chocolate pudding, silently cheering when he graduated to toast and scrambled eggs. He was limited to walking for only thirty minutes at a time, but Rodney walked with him, sharing the latest gossip and debating the identity of The Others. Teyla spent hours helping him practice his balance and flexibility exercises.

Keller released him to his room once he was steady enough to get around on his own. He slept a lot, ate as much as he could, finally finished War and Peace, mainlined four seasons of House, plowed through over fifteen hundred emails, and caught up on all the mission reports that had been filed since they'd gone missing. Lorne had done an exceptional job keeping up with the paperwork, the search, and the minutiae of command which John made note of in his official letter of commendation that he filed along with all of the other personnel reviews and requests.

His sleep cycle had mostly reset but occasionally he would wake up in the middle of the night either hungry or wired. His weight was slowly building back to normal, but he got cold easily, especially now that the seasons were changing. New Lantea was colder than their original home which made winter rather bitter, even for a man who'd spent almost a year in Antarctica.

One night after one of his more disturbing dreams, John pulled on his sweatshirt and jacket and headed down to the Mess, hoping to hunt down one of Lieutenant Chevange's renowned lemon-poppy seed muffins. When he emerged from the kitchen, wiping crumbs from his lapels, he noticed a light in the corner of the dining area. McKay was sitting at a table, staring at a chessboard.

"What are you doing, Rodney?"

McKay flinched hard, bumping the board and scattering pieces over the table. "Damn, Sheppard. Was scaring me to death really necessary?"

"Nope." John grinned at him. "That was just a side benefit."

Rodney glared at him. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are."

"Yes, I am," John replied, unrepentant. "And you didn't answer my question."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Rodney righted the pieces and reset the board. "Of course, I'll have to start over since you messed everything up."

"Me?" John slid into the chair opposite McKay. "I didn't knock them off. I was halfway across the room."

"Doesn't matter. It's still your fault."

John glanced around. "Who are you playing?"

Rodney kept his eyes on the board. "Myself."

"Don't you know what your next move is going to be?"

"I'm not allowing myself to think ahead."

"But that's the purpose. You're supposed to have a strategy." John picked up the black queen and rolled it between his fingers and thumb. "Why are you playing alone?"

"Because Zelenka cheats and…"

John cocked his head to the side. "And what?"

Rodney sighed and looked up. "I wasn't sure you'd want to. I didn't know how you felt about playing games these days."

"I hadn't really thought about it." The very idea made the bile rise in his throat. "But a friend of mine told me about some good advice he got, and I think I'll give it a try." He returned the queen to her spot. "Maybe if I keep playing I'll associate it with fun like I used to."

McKay held his gaze for a moment then smiled. "Good. You want to be white?"

John shook his head and grinned. "No, that's okay. You can go first. I'll still kick your ass."

"Oh, dream on. I will so own you." Rodney studied the board then pinned John with a stare. "As long as you don't cheat."

"I don't have to cheat, McKay."

"And no distracting me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." John brushed a few crumbs from his shirt onto the table.

McKay gaped at him, appalled. "Is that lemon?"

John blinked innocently. "Is what lemon?"

"Unbelievable. We haven't even started." Rodney blew the crumbs off the table. "Cheater."

"Geek."

McKay moved a pawn. "Zombie."

"Zombie?" John countered the move. "Where did that come from?"

"Isn't that what the Marines call you Air Force types?"

McKay really did suck at lying. His face was red and he was chewing the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. A man like Rodney who'd worked for the Air Force for over a decade certainly knew all the derogatory terms, maybe had invented a few of them.

John couldn't help it – he laughed. And once he started he couldn't stop. He laughed until tears rolled down his face. McKay finally gave up trying to hold a straight face and giggled like a girl which made John laugh harder.

They were still laughing and trading insults when the kitchen staff arrived half an hour later to begin breakfast.

* * *

_Written for the sga santa fic exchange for kriadydragon. Many thanks to kristen999 for the always fabulous beta. All faults mine._

_Happy New Year!_


	27. Defending Pegasus

_Set after Enemy at the Gate so spoilers for everything._

**Defending Pegasus**

Rodney hunched over his console, hoping Sheppard would take the hint.

He didn't.

"Quit hovering. Busy man here." When Sheppard still didn't move, Rodney snapped, "This is called work in case you weren't familiar with the concept."

"I told you to call me when they dialed in," Sheppard said in his slow, quiet, I'm-pissed-at-you voice. "What was unclear about that?"

Rodney frowned at the monitor. Who the hell had shut down the desalination plant? Diagnostics confirmed it was operating within acceptable parameters, and the next scheduled maintenance wasn't for another six weeks.

"Are you listening to me, McKay?"

"Yes." Rodney fired off an email to Zelenka, stating in no uncertain terms what would happen if the plant wasn't back online in five minutes. "I didn't call you because Teyla said she was late for the next round of talks. She said the meetings were running long and they'd be back soon."

"How did she sound?"

"She sounded like Teyla."

"Rodney!"

"Well, what did you think…" The acerbic retort died on Rodney's lips when he got a look at Sheppard's face. He recognized the expression – wrinkles between the brows, mouth pressed in a thin white line, eyes pinched tight – but it wasn't one he normally associated with Sheppard.

It was the one Elizabeth had always been wearing when they came home late: worried, stressed, helpless to do anything but wait.

Rodney pushed back from the console and looked Sheppard in the eye. "She sounded fine, John. She didn't use any of the code words. She didn't call me by the wrong name." Sheppard's expression hadn't changed. What else could he say? "She sounded…irritated."

Sheppard's brows drew closer together. "Irritated?"

"Well, wouldn't you be after four days of Coalition meetings with only Woolsey to talk to?"

Sheppard covered a lopsided grin with his hand. "I'm sure she knows a few of the other leaders there." Then the frown was back. "She really sounded okay?"

"You are such a mother hen when you're in charge." Rodney folded his arms over his chest. "You're still pissed Woolsey wouldn't let you go with them."

"I'm pissed because he would only let me send two Marines with them instead of a squad."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Having Teyla is like having a squad of Marines."

Sheppard chuckled, his shoulders relaxing to almost normal. "That's true. Still…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "The Coalition isn't known for its safety."

Rodney sat up straight. "You think the Genii might try something again?"

Sheppard shook his head. "You've seen what the Wraith did while Atlantis was on Earth. The Genii are too busy trying to survive that last culling to care about being the Coalition police." He huffed and kicked at the console. "If the IOA hadn't dragged their feet for so long, we would've been here before things got so bad. Instead, we're cleaning up the mess and trying to avoid—"

An alarm shrieked and the gate began to turn.

Rodney leaped to his feet and rushed to the DHD as the shield coalesced over the shimmering wormhole. He blinked in surprise at the IDC. "Captain Randolph's team is returning."

"Already?" Sheppard strode to the overhang railing to gaze at the gate. "I thought they just left."

"They did, half an hour ago."

"Lower the shield."

Rodney pressed the pad. Captain Randolph and her team stepped through followed by Ronon, who had asked to go somewhere, anywhere, tired of sitting in Atlantis while his team was standing down for "talking."

"What happened?" Sheppard asked.

Randolph glanced up and shook her head sadly. "We were too late, sir. They're gone. It's a total loss."

Sheppard bowed his head, his hands tightening on the rail until his knuckles were white. "Understood. Send me your report after the post-mission exam."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged and led her team toward the infirmary.

"Ronon?" Sheppard called.

Ronon bounded up the main staircase, three steps at a time, carrying a P-90 and looking like he needed to pound on someone. Rodney moved quickly to his seat and buried himself in his work. Not because he was scared, of course, but really, who else was going to run gate diagnostics?

"A culling?" Sheppard asked.

"Worse," Ronon growled. "Marauders. They killed anybody who resisted, and then destroyed the village. Burned it to the ground. Burned the fields, too, after they stole what they wanted. Carted their haul off through the gate in some kind of wagons. The survivors relocated to another world, but a couple were there digging through the rubble." Technicians scurried in every direction as he stalked around the control room like a caged tiger with attitude. "We can't let them keep doing this."

"I'm open to ideas." Sheppard slumped against a pillar, hands stuffed in his pockets. "This is the fifth time this month we've come across a world destroyed by raiders." He pushed off and paced in front of Rodney's console. "I don't understand why they burn it down. Why wipe out the entire village? What purpose does that serve?"

Rodney snorted. "Do they need a reason?"

"I guess not." Sheppard paused to lean against the workstation. "But from a purely technical perspective, it seems like a waste. Why get rid of a good thing?" He spread his hands wide. "Why not leave the village standing so they can raid it again in the future?"

"Your mind is a scary place," Rodney stated.

"I'm serious. They know these worlds can be easily taken advantage of. Why force themselves to continually find new targets?"

"Boredom?" Rodney mused.

"Maybe they like the challenge," Ronon suggested.

Sheppard scratched his head. "Maybe. But one day they're going to attack a world that fights back."

Horror shot through Rodney as a thought struck. "What if they are testing us?"

"Testing us?" Sheppard's eyes narrowed and Rodney could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "You mean gauging our reaction?"

"And our response time." Rodney rubbed at the headache throbbing between his eyes. "We're supposed to be the military might of the Coalition – the police, like you said." He sagged in his seat and sighed. "What if they are working their way up to something big? Really big."

"Like what?" Sheppard asked.

"Nothing good," Ronon answered, laying the P-90 on the console. "Take a look."

Sheppard picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Then he did a double take. "Oh, no."

"What?" Rodney asked. Even he could see the jammed guide rod. "Did we get a defective shipment?"

"These aren't ours," Sheppard said, staring wide-eyed at the gun.

"Then whose…" Rodney gaped at him. "Someone is reverse engineering our weapons?"

"And doing a piss-poor job of it." Sheppard ripped the gun apart in three seconds flat. "The balance is off. The muzzle is warped from the inferior metal overheating when it's fired." He shook the cartridge and a bullet that looked like it was from World War One tumbled out. "And their ammo is worthless."

"Not worthless enough," Ronon growled, the tendons in his neck cording as he clenched his jaw. "I counted over a hundred bodies myself, most of them with bullet holes in them."

"We've lost enough weapons over the past few years to arm half of Pegasus," Rodney said as he poked at the pieces of the gun. "I'm surprised it's taken this long for someone to try. I wonder where their manufacturing plant is. Too bad we can't ask one of them…" He trailed off as Sheppard and Ronon both whipped around to stare at him. "Stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

"It wouldn't be the first time we captured someone for information." Sheppard gnawed on his bottom lip, lost in thought.

Rodney raised a finger. "And probably not the last, but how would you know who to capture? It's not like they advertise."

"Someone has to know something," Ronon insisted.

Rodney flinched when the gate activation alarm screeched again. He hurried to the DHD console and grinned when the IDC popped up on the screen.

"It's Teyla," Rodney announced.

"About damn time," Sheppard muttered. "Let 'em through."

Rodney complied and sent along the tone that her IDC would register as "all clear." Seconds later, Teyla and Woolsey, along with the two Marines, trudged through, shoulders bowed and new lines etched on their faces. Sheppard and Ronon clomped down the stairs to greet them with Rodney following at a more dignified pace.

"That bad?" Sheppard asked.

Woolsey heaved a sigh. "To think I used to relish day-long political debates," he said.

"It was most taxing," Teyla admitted with a weary shake of her head. "The Coalition representatives agree that everyone has needs, but no one is willing to help anyone else. They all claim to barely have enough food, water, and shelter to provide for their own people."

"A few asked to be allowed to live on Atlantis." Woolsey held up a hand when a manly squeak of protest bubbled out of Rodney. "I have no intention of allowing this city to become a refugee camp, but I do think we can…" He heaved another sigh. "You know what? I haven't had a hot shower in days. Let's schedule a debrief for some time tomorrow."

"I agree. However," Teyla paused and looked at Woolsey who nodded, "I have something I wish for you to consider, John."

Sheppard planted his hands on his hips and nodded. "Okay."

"The most voiced request was for defense. They wish to fight back when they are attacked."

Sheppard groaned in dismay. "Teyla, we're doing the best we can, but I can't have a team on every world all the time. I don't have that kind of manpower."

"I know," Teyla replied. "I'm not suggesting we provide soldiers. I think we should train these people to protect their homes and families."

"Like a militia?" Ronon asked.

Teyla nodded. "John, you said that in the other timeline, the one Rodney told you about, Ronon trained people to fight Michael. Can we not do the same? Teach them to fight for themselves?"

And that's when Rodney tuned out. More power to his teammates if they wanted to try to teach a bunch of farmers and ranchers how to shoot guns, but he had better things to do like keeping Atlantis running. He had seven critical experiments that desperately needed his attention, starting with making a hyperdrive conversion on the jumper that wouldn't blow up after a couple of flights. And he really had to finish—

"…McKay can teach them some science."

Rodney wheeled around to stare at Sheppard. "Wait, what? What did you say?"

Sheppard smirked at him, that irritating flash of a grin that was so insincere it made Rodney want to throw up. "I said you could teach science."

"Where?" Rodney's jaw dropped. "Oh, no no no. I am not teaching a bunch of prim…i…tive…" Very little intimidated Rodney McKay, PhD PhD like Teyla's death glare. He had forgotten not to say the 'p' word in her presence. "I mean ignorant…um, less educated? Less educated… What was I saying? Oh, yeah. What could I possibly teach those nice people?"

"I thought you were a genius, McKay." Sheppard rocked back on his heels, suddenly the laid-back nemesis Rodney was used to verbally sparring with. "I mean, MacGyver used to defeat the bad guys with a paper clip and a stick of gum. Are you telling me you can't come up with anything to help these folks defend themselves?"

"MacGyver was a TV show with questionable— You can't possibly expect—" Rodney spluttered to a stop. "Fine. I'll come up with something." He glowered as Sheppard laughed that donkey bray of his. "MacGyver? Really?"

"Aw, I loved that show," Sheppard said. "First guy I remember seeing prove that you could be cool _and_ smart." He slapped Rodney on the back. "You should watch it, take notes."

"As if I would waste a single brain cell on that drivel."

"Snob."

"Slob."

"Gentlemen," Woolsey interrupted. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to continuing this. _Tomorrow_."

Rodney nodded and headed back to the control room to finish his work, pondering and discarding a hundred ideas about what to teach. MacGyver. Ha! He'd show Sheppard. By the time he was finished, the natives of Pegasus would be building rockets out of stone knives and bearskins.

xxx

John trudged into the conference room, coffee cup in one hand and data pad in the other. The first to arrive, he had his choice of seats, but took his standard – second seat on the right. Even after a year, he was occasionally startled by the table Woolsey had brought from Earth. John had liked the one they had. He could still picture Elizabeth leaning forward with her elbows propped on it. He shook the memories away. Maybe a new one wasn't such a bad idea.

"Didn't sleep much?" Ronon strolled in and plopped in the chair across from him.

John scratched the stubble on his chin and stifled a yawn. "Shows, huh?"

"Yep."

"Lorne and I went over the idea of a militia for hours last night."

Ronon slung an arm over the back of the chair. "Thought you were excited about it."

"I was until we got into the details."

"Good morning," Teyla greeted as she took the seat next to John. "It is a beautiful day."

John chuckled and sipped his coffee. "You're just glad to be home."

Teyla sighed happily. "You are correct. I have not been away from Torren for so long before."

"Bet you missed your bed, too." McKay strode in and sat across from her, next to Ronon. Keller followed, sitting on the other side of Ronon.

"Yes, I did." Teyla gave him a mischievous smile. "And my bantos rods. Perhaps you would like to spar today?"

McKay's eyes bulged. "Me? Um… I have so much to do. Projects and such. Plus Sheppard wants me to come up with some rudimentary…science…" He trailed off when Teyla started giggling. "Very funny."

"You might want to take her up on it, Rodney," John said. "If we're going to do this militia thing, you're going to participate with everyone else."

"But I thought—"

"Ah, good, you're all here." Woolsey sat down at the head of the table. "I trust you received the report I sent about the Coalition talks. Any questions?"

John leaned back in his chair. "You think using the alpha site to process refugees is the best use of our people and facilities?"

"I think it's better than setting up a secondary site." Woolsey adjusted his glasses. "Allowing refugees to come here is too big a security risk."

"Agreed," John replied.

"My intention is for the refugees to have a place to retreat to in the immediate aftermath of a culling or raid, not for them to stay there forever. We would need to work with other Coalition member worlds to determine who has room to take in refugees. The alpha site would simply be a way station, if you will. We'll treat any injuries, reunite families, and then help them relocate to a world that will take them."

"We're going to need more manpower," John warned.

"And more than one medic stationed there permanently," Keller added. "We'll need a doctor, a couple of nurses, preferably people with disaster training."

"We will also need someone there who can administrate. Someone they trust," Teyla said.

"Are you volunteering?" Woolsey asked.

Teyla smiled. "No. I have too many other duties that would prevent me from performing effectively in that role. Perhaps Shilee from Jenof or Kala from Cantos. Either would be an excellent administrator, and choosing someone not from Atlantis would be a way to foster goodwill among the other member worlds."

Woolsey nodded slowly. "Duly noted." He glanced up at Teyla. "I would like for you to head this up. Work with Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Keller to determine personnel needs. I'll inform the Council of our plans, and I'd like to meet with your nominees for administrator. We'll need to get together to discuss guidelines and such."

Teyla jotted a few notes on her data pad. "I will schedule a time to meet later."

"Thank you," Woolsey said. "Colonel, your thoughts on establishing a militia?"

John set his coffee cup on the table, keeping his fingers wrapped around it. "I like the overall concept, but I have a few concerns."

"I anticipated as much." Woolsey turned his chair to face John directly. "What are they?"

"It's been our policy to this point to not consciously arm our allies, with a few exceptions." John nodded at Teyla who inclined her head in return. "Are we abandoning that policy? Are we going to give automatic weapons to all the member worlds? What do we do when they are used to attack a neighboring village or another member world? What happens when they use the science McKay is going to teach them to build bombs?" He pushed out of his chair and paced to the back of the room. "We've done this before, on Earth. How many times have we chosen what we thought was the lesser of two evils and had it come back to bite us in the ass?"

"He's got a point," McKay said. "Once we train these folks and hand over weapons, we won't be able to control how they use them."

Woolsey rubbed his forehead. "I know. Many of our allies in the Milky Way made the same argument. They were unwilling to give advanced technology – which is what our weapons are – to a world that hadn't worked to achieve the knowledge itself. Were they right?" He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe we would have used them for nefarious purposes, and maybe we wouldn't have. What I do know is that our fight against the Goa'uld would have been a lot shorter, and we would have lost fewer people if we'd had them."

"Isn't Atlantis considered advanced technology by Earth standards?" Ronon asked. "You didn't do anything to get it except walk through the gate and have the Ancestor gene."

"We did a little more than that," McKay protested.

"What I believe Ronon is trying to say," Teyla interjected, "is that you have been mostly responsible with the technology at your disposal, even that which you did not work for yourselves. Should other worlds not have the same opportunity?"

John gripped the back of the chair at the far end of the table. "I get that. I do. And I would love to give them that opportunity if I knew that I wouldn't be staring down the muzzle of one of our own guns one day."

McKay snorted. "That could happen here. Hell, it _has_ happened here."

"True," John said, moving back to his seat. "Don't get me wrong. I want these people to be able to defend themselves against the Wraith and whoever else is out there. I take that 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness' mantra very seriously. But I'm not willing to hand out guns indiscriminately."

Teyla steepled her fingers and gazed at John over the top of them. "Why did you agree to give weapons to my people?"

John shot her a quizzical look. "Because I trust you."

"And you trust me because you know me."

"Yeah. Where is this going?"

"Perhaps what we need to do is train in stages," Teyla suggested. "Teach them how to defend with what they have, and in the process, get to know them. Only after you are comfortable with them would we give them advanced weaponry and teach them how to use it."

"Hmmm..." John leaned back, pondering her words. "I can live with training folks on their own weapons. However, I'm still not sold on arming them later. It would be a constant drain on our supply of guns and ammunition." He arched a brow at Woolsey. "I can't imagine how we could cover that in our budget."

"We can't," Woolsey said. "I have no idea where Colonel Carter found the funds to arm the Athosians."

"You know that old proverb 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for today; teach him to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.'?" Keller asked. "Ronon reported that someone is already reverse engineering the P-90s. Why not teach them how to do it right?"

"Because they'd still be running around Pegasus with automatic weapons," McKay replied. "Which is a bad thing if they decide to shoot at us."

"Then teach them to manufacture something else," Keller shot back.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Do you know how long that will take? Most of these worlds aren't advanced enough to make their own weapons much less be able to match our level of precision and quality."

"The Genii are," Ronon said.

"Most of their manufacturing facilities are underground, undisturbed by the culling," Teyla added. "But their population has been decimated so they would require help from other societies." She shook her head. "The Genii are a proud people, not easily given to accepting charity."

"It isn't charity if it's a joint operation." John turned to Woolsey. "Like a barter system – trade what you have for weapons. The Genii provide the facilities while the Coalition worlds provide the labor and materials. Can you sell that?"

Woolsey gave a slight smile. "By the time I'm done, they will think it was their idea."

"Are we sure we want the Genii involved?" McKay asked. "We don't have the best track record with them."

"I'll worry about keeping the Genii honest," John answered. "You worry about figuring out how to manufacture a gun we can all live with." He glanced at Ronon. "What kind of weaponry do our trainees have now?"

"Most have Genii shotguns." Ronon shrugged. "The Genii will sell to anyone."

"I think we still have one or two of those around here somewhere," John said. "I'll get in a little practice with it."

Rodney held up a finger. "Not to be negative, because, you know, that would be so unlike me, but where are we planning on holding this lovefest?"

xxx

They located a training site – a planet that had been abandoned by the survivors of a devastating culling. Atlantis teams repaired the village's structures and stocked them with items found on most of the Coalition member worlds. The first training session wasn't quite a complete disaster, but close. John was grazed when a rifle that hadn't been cleaned since the Ancients ascended misfired. Two participants fainted when Ronon leaped out at them during a tracking exercise. Teyla accidently broke one man's arm trying to dodge an errant bantos rod. But McKay took top honors when a lesson in combustibles went horribly awry. Fortunately everyone got out of the building before it exploded.

"Well, that was fun." McKay swiped at the soot on his face, managing to smear it over his nose. "Let's do that again real soon."

"Suck it up, Rodney," John replied with a dark glance. "I told you to be careful."

"How did I know Farmer Bob—"

"Buv."

"Whatever. I told him not to mix the liquids without my say so."

"You were supposed to be watching him." John grimaced as Keller swiped his arm with antiseptic and wrapped it with a bandage. "Thanks, Doc."

"No more stopping bullets with your arm." Keller arched a brow. "Or any other part of you."

"What about me?" McKay whined.

She sniffed delicately. "Take a shower."

"I could have smoke inhalation."

"You were too busy running to breathe any smoke." John hopped off the gurney and pulled McKay with him.

"I have a healthy sense of self-preservation."

"I noticed." They stepped inside the transporter and exited out at crew quarters. "Don't let them blow anything up next time," John said.

"Then don't give me so many people." McKay stopped in the middle of the hall. "I'm serious, John. We decided to limit the class to twelve, but I can't watch all of them at the same time. And Farmer Bob—"

"Buv."

"Yeah, yeah, him. He wasn't interested in learning anything except how to make the biggest bang." McKay stepped inside and looked back. "Someone like that is going to kill himself or someone else."

John wandered the corridors, letting McKay's statements bounce around in his head for a while. Buv wasn't the only one who hadn't paid much attention to what Rodney was teaching, and most of the ones who did had flinched away from the gunfire and had cowered in front of Ronon.

Before John realized it, his feet had led him to Teyla's suite. She answered the door with her head wrapped in a towel and water glistening on her neck.

"Sorry," John said. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

"You did not." Teyla gestured him in. "I have finished my shower and meditation. I was planning on a late dinner."

"Sounds good."

Teyla ran a comb through her hair and tied it back. "I am ready."

Once they were settled in the Mess, John said, "What did you think of today?"

"It was…a good start." Teyla took a bite of her sandwich. "And you?"

"Good wasn't really the word that came to mind."

"This is a process, John."

"I know that." He twirled spaghetti around his fork. "I'm thinking we may need to assess aptitude and interests first. Train people in what they're good at instead of teaching everybody everything."

"It would make the training easier," Teyla replied. "I was concerned for the safety of several students."

John huffed a laugh. "I was concerned for my safety."

"We should add weapons care to the list of subjects as well."

"Agreed. Let's get together with Ronon, Rodney, and Lorne tomorrow."

xxx

After a month of late-night planning sessions and constant revising, they finally devised a three-day course that taught the basics of individual and group defense, including Wraith tracking and trapping skills, hand-to-hand combat, target practice with Genii weaponry, and several different homemade bomb recipes.

"We've already had this conversation, McKay," John snapped as they hiked toward the village. "Everybody's doing drills, including you."

"I am a scientist, not a toy soldier. I don't need lessons in how to stand."

John closed his eyes and sighed. "It's not about learning how to stand. It's about doing uncomfortable things until they become comfortable – second nature – so when the bad guy is hunting you down, you know how to stand perfectly still, or how to assemble a gun by touch, or how to do a thousand other things. It's about discipline. They need to learn how to perform under stressful conditions."

McKay folded his arms over his chest. "I get plenty of practice at that with my day job, thank you."

John wheeled and leaned into Rodney's face. "You'll do what I tell you," he stated, glaring with his best hard-ass soldier expression.

McKay blinked and took a step back. "Okay."

John hid a smile as he spun around and marched toward the village. His Air Force drill sergeant had been a pansy compared to his mom's dad. Grandpa Miller had been a career Marine who'd served as a sniper in World War Two and Korea before being unleashed on newly commissioned officers as an instructor at Quantico. Other kids spent their summers goofing off at camp. John had spent his learning combat tactics, how to shoot, and how to evade capture behind enemy lines. Grandpa has stressed thinking outside the box over everything else, something he'd picked up from Grandma who'd ignored convention and her family's wishes to marry the man she loved even if he was below her station. Patrick Sheppard had blamed John's teen rebelliousness on too much exposure to an old man's eccentricities and had forbidden John from spending time with him, a command John blithely disobeyed. Good thing he did. More than one soldier and scientist owed their lives to the training John had received at Grandpa's knee.

"Stow your gear," John ordered when they reached the outskirts of the village. "Our folks should be here soon."

The town reminded John of a studio backlot for a western – wooden buildings attached to each other with a matching set across a dirt street. About five structures in, it made a ninety-degree left turn then a right turn a few shops later. The overall effect was a Jenga game gone wrong, but his men had done a good job making the buildings structurally sound and stocking them with Pegasus-only supplies.

John dropped his duffle in the building that would be his home for the next three days. It was cozy – small living area and kitchen downstairs and two sleeping rooms upstairs. Ronon would take the other bedroom, but since he never had bags, he had gone to map out his tracking course and set his traps.

While the town didn't have a square to speak of, it did have a large gathering area near what John assumed had been the town hall, based on the few discarded items the previous inhabitants had left behind. It was near the buildings Teyla and Rodney had selected for their classes and the shooting range John had asked to be constructed so it worked well as a parade ground for drills and calisthenics.

John stripped off his tac vest and overshirt, keeping his t-shirt and thigh holster. He debated about what to do with his P-90, but he couldn't work out with it on, and he didn't want to risk letting someone walk off with it. The weapons cache was secure, but not readily accessible, and didn't it suck that he felt naked without it.

He took a deep breath and stashed the gun in the oven, making a mental note to take it out before Ronon got ready to make dinner. Ronon was a terrible cook; the only people worse than him were John, Rodney and Teyla. John was secretly hoping one of their trainees would offer to make dinner tonight. He could use a good meal.

John stepped outside at five minutes until start time. Ronon and Teyla were chatting with a couple of students while Rodney rocked from one foot to the other as a short, stout woman bombarded him with questions. John did a quick headcount – eleven students of the twelve they had invited after extensive testing and two interviews.

"Good morning," John said. "I hope you came prepared to work hard because that's what we're going to do over the next three days. Today, we're starting with drills to get used to working as a unit, and I want to get something straight from the beginning. I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to teach you how to defend your people and your homes. When I give an order—"

A gangly kid with acne dashed in. "Sorry."

John gave him a cold stare. "You're late."

The boy swallowed thickly. "Had trouble with the herd. We—"

"I'm not interested in excuses." Grandpa Miller's words came tumbling out of John's mouth. "If you can't be on time, then be early." John held the boy's gaze another moment, impressed when the boy flushed but didn't look away. "As I was saying, when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed immediately. No questions. No arguing. It doesn't matter if you don't see the use of it. When I say do it, you do it. Understood?"

Heads bobbed in unison.

John straightened until his spine popped. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Ronon barked.

"Yes, sir!" the others shouted.

"Good," John said. "Now, fall in. Two lines. Spread out. Hold your arms out to the side. Your fingertips should brush your neighbors'."

The students scrambled into place, excited smiles creasing their faces. John stood at parade rest, keeping his face neutral, as they bumped and giggled and finally formed two wavy lines, six in front and six in back with Ronon and Teyla bookending the front line and McKay doing his best to hide behind Ronon in the back line.

John scanned the group, his gaze landing on a stocky older man. "Greesa, do you call that a straight line?"

Greesa's eyes widened then darted side to side. "Not really."

"You may address me as Colonel, and answer either yes sir or no sir," John corrected.

Greesa cleared his throat. "No, sir, Colonel."

"I wouldn't either, Greesa. I would call it sloppy, and I don't want sloppy. I want excellence in everything, including lines." John swept his gaze over them. "Straighten that line."

They shuffled until the lines were straight.

"Arms out!" John moved to the side and stared down the lines. "Holet, move up! Nanyo, back!" He circled around to the front. "Eyes forward! Chin up! Chest out! Don't look at me, Korev. I said eyes forward!"

John waited until every man and woman was standing at attention.

"When I tell you to fall in, this is the formation I want. No relaxing until I say." He paced slowly before them. "You have been chosen by your worlds and the Coalition Council to participate because you have shown aptitude in specific areas. Others will follow after you, and once we have trained a sufficient number, we will help you organize a militia on your planet which means you will need to practice what you learn here on a regular basis back home."

John stopped, waiting to see who would be the first to move. Minutes ticked by. He knew McKay had to be dying; the man had never been this still, including the times he was unconscious. Ronon and Teyla, on the other hand, did great tree impersonations. Finally, John caught a flicker of movement.

"Eyes front, Siwo!"

The woman's eyes locked on something in the distance.

"The next three days are going to be tough," John said. "We're here to train you, not coddle you. We don't care how you've done it in the past. You're going to do it our way. If that sounds too hard for you, leave now."

No one moved.

"Ronon, front and center." When Ronon was in place, John said, "Drop and give me twenty."

Ronon immediately flattened to the ground and started doing push-ups with ridiculous ease.

"These are called push-ups. Watch his form – elbows to the side, arms fully extended, back straight. Keeping your body in shape is a vital part of being able to effectively defend yourself. Some of you are already there, but some of you have a ways to go." John nodded. "Thank you, Ronon. Back in place. Now, I want all of you to drop and give me twenty. Ronon and Teyla will help you with your form."

They spent the next few hours on push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and running. John made sure they were all well-hydrated and kept the pace slow enough to challenge the flabby but not kill them. By lunchtime, they were all wringing with sweat and everyone slumped to the ground in relief when John called a half-hour meal break.

"My back is never going to recover from this," McKay mumbled as he gingerly stretched out on the floor of the town hall, the building the team had chosen as their dining area.

"Exercise is good for you," John said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"That is a myth perpetuated by money-grubbing fitness instructors." McKay moaned as he rolled on his side to grab another bag of chips. "Please tell me we are moving on to something else."

John exchanged amused glances with Teyla who nudged a piece of fruit in Rodney's direction. "We're moving on to something else," John said. "Weapons care."

"Oh, dear God. How many times are we going to have to take a gun apart?" McKay eyed the fruit, a purple not-apple from Belsa. "No citrus, right?"

"It still has no citrus," Teyla assured him. "You've had _nireesks_ many times."

McKay picked it up and sniffed it. "Can't be too careful." He took a bite. "Mmmm… I forgot. I like these."

Teyla smiled indulgently. "That is why I brought them."

"What did you bring me?" Ronon asked.

Teyla arched a brow at him. "What makes you think I brought something for you?"

Ronon grinned. "'Cause you always do."

"An error I will endeavor to correct," Teyla replied.

"Aw, come on." Ronon could rival McKay on whining when he really wanted to. "Don't be like that."

"Why did you not bring something for me?"

"I'll make you dinner tonight," Ronon promised.

John snorted. "You're making everyone dinner." He blinked innocently when Ronon shot him a dirty look. "What?"

Teyla laughed, a warm, full-throated laugh that had slowly returned after Michael's death. "I might have something in my bag for you," she told Ronon. "For breakfast."

Ronon bounced like a kid. "Cherry Pop-Tarts?"

"Cherry?" McKay sat up with a grimace. "I thought we were out of cherry."

Teyla smiled and went back to eating her sandwich.

"You've been hoarding them?" McKay looked at John. "That's not fair."

"Oh, and that mound of chocolate bars you have stashed in your dresser is?" John said.

McKay's jaw dropped. "Who told?"

"I know all, Rodney." John tucked the chocolate chip-oatmeal cookie that Teyla smuggled him into his pocket. "Now, finish your lunch. We've got guns to play with. And," he held a hand up, "before you ask again, you're going to do it until you can take that gun apart in your sleep."

John headed to the weapons cache and removed a selection of Pegasus guns – a Genii handgun and shotgun, a Satedan rifle, and a pistol of unknown origin that seemed to very popular on the seedier worlds. He snagged a cleaning kit and gauge rods of varying lengths, and went back outside where Ronon had everyone seated.

John ran an eye over the weapons the class had. Most were Genii, but a couple were unfamiliar to him. He sat down and spread the guns he'd brought on the ground.

"Some of you may already know how to care for your weapons, but follow along anyway. You may learn something new." John picked up the rifle. "Let's be clear – these are not toys. They are deadly weapons used to kill. On a good day, you'll hunt down something nice for dinner. On a bad day, you'll kill another human being."

"On a really good day, you'll kill a Wraith," Ronon added. Several heads nodded in agreement.

"You need to be intimately familiar with your weapon – how it works, why it works, what it looks like in good condition and how to keep it that way. A gun with rust or contaminants can misfire which in certain circumstances means you end up dead." John nodded at Teyla and Ronon who stood. "First, make sure the weapon is unloaded."

Ronon and Teyla circled the group, making sure each student obeyed John's instructions to the letter. McKay looked bored, but he followed along without comment.

"Next, wipe down the gun with the cloth provided, and then clean the barrel with the gauge rod and cleaner Teyla is handing out." He waited as the students shared the rods, pleased at the care each one took in examining and cleaning the weapon. "Once you're done with that, rub a bit of gun oil on it and then inspect it again for anything that didn't get clean."

John talked gun safety for a few minutes while they finished, and then they moved on to assembling and disassembling the weapons. Four hours later, he was satisfied enough with their progress that he called it a day.

Ronon and two others hunted down and roasted a _makleb_, a deer-like animal that was as tough as it was tasty. A nice selection of vegetables brought by another student rounded out a fine meal. When night fell, John took first watch, and the entire group was snoring peacefully before he'd completed his first circuit of the village.

The next morning, Teyla doled out cherry Pop-Tarts to everyone, causing Ronon to pout and McKay to gloat until he had to share his coffee.

"Seriously, Sheppard, how can you even ask? Do you realize that the suns aren't even up yet?"

John ignored him, slurping the coffee on his way to the makeshift parade ground where the students were attempting to imitate the stretches Teyla was showing them. He would find it comical if he hadn't spent hours trying to do the same thing and failing just as miserably as they were. Teyla was a cat in a world of elephants.

"Fall in," John ordered, not bothering to raise his voice. Experience had taught him that all shouting accomplished was straining his vocal cords. Either his people would pay attention when he approached or they would do push-ups until their arms gave out.

Fortunately, most of the students heard him and the rest hurried to place when they saw the first group move. They exercised for about an hour, including holding steady in a crouch until they collapsed – except for Ronon who could outlast John.

"Work on that when you get home," John instructed. "As you can imagine, making noise while hiding from the enemy can be a fatal mistake. You should be able to hold that position for at least half an hour." He checked his watch. "Break time. Get plenty of water and grab your weapons."

While everyone obeyed his orders, John did a last check on the shooting range. After three hours of target practice in which nobody shot anyone else and almost everyone hit the paper target at least six times, they broke up into groups. Rodney practically sprinted away to his work area, his three students scuttling after him. Ronon looked entirely too eager as he led his three to the forest to run the gauntlet of Wraith traps he'd set while Teyla merely inclined her head at John and walked serenely to her gym. Her students looked relieved. John almost felt sorry for them.

He turned to face the three left: Redrec – a quiet man with a narrow, serious face and eyes that missed nothing, Modad – a bundle of energy who kept her head shaved except for the red topknot that reached to her collar, and Gartax, a bear of a man who didn't speak much and smiled even less.

"You are here," John began, "because you are considered leaders on your worlds. Your people listen to you, follow your advice, look to you when trouble arises. We chose your worlds – Karika, Lodeb, and Jephtha – for this training session because of the abilities you and your fellow students showed during testing. Four people from each world are here to learn as much as we can teach in three days. McKay will teach his students some chemical combinations guaranteed to make kill anyone in a hundred foot radius. Ronon is teaching your folks how to track and trap the Wraith and anyone else who bothers you. Teyla's students are learning hand-to-hand combat. You are going to learn how to take those people and their unique knowledge and work together to protect your homes and families. We will spend the rest of today talking tactics, and tomorrow you'll get with your people and work on combining what you've learned to come up with a defensive strategy for your villages. Any questions?"

Redrec lifted a hand. "I know that the Council chose those who scored highest, but two of my people have a longstanding feud. They aren't going to want to work together."

"It's not a matter of want to. They have to, and it's your job to make sure they do." John stood. "Walk with me." He led them to the street and began to stroll down it. "You have a common goal, and you have to get them to see that. This world," he waved an arm at the empty buildings, "used to be a thriving community according to Teyla. Several thousand people lived here." He stopped and turned to them. "And several thousand died here or were culled. I know I don't have to tell you about the threat the Wraith pose, and in theory you shouldn't have to point it out to your people, but do it if you have to. We will train others from your world eventually, but for now, you are it. If you don't work together, you could lose everything."

"You make it sound easy," Gartax remarked.

John chuckled. "Trust me, I know exactly how hard it is."

xxx

After three months of weekly training session, Rodney was done. The participants were happy; the last two raider attacks had been foiled by fancy shooting and a couple of McKay's special-potion bombs. The Coalition was pleased; Woolsey was ecstatic. Rodney was exhausted and cranky. The cots hurt his back. His coffee was instant. He missed his bathtub, his highly modified laptop, and automatic doors.

Sheppard agreed to hand off the training to lesser teams, and life returned to normal until Lorne reported back that a few of the participants were requesting advanced instruction. After a few lengthy discussions in which Rodney repeatedly voiced his strong opposition, Sheppard agreed to a trial run. They limited the advanced class to only those recommended by Lorne or one of the other trainers.

To Rodney's total amazement, he enjoyed the class. His three students had less knowledge about chemistry and physics than most high school kids, but they had an innate grasp of the concepts and they actually wanted to listen. To him. He was disappointed when the session ended.

The team fell into a rhythm and after a few months, they had regulars returning for more and more advanced training. While Rodney would rather have his fingernails ripped off than admit it, he liked teaching. Always had. His problem had been patience. He was a TA while he was working on his PhDs, and very few students survived his classes. Most of them had learned poor science or poor habits in their high school and undergraduate programs, and he simply didn't have the capacity to wait as they unlearned.

But these folks, these farmers and shopkeepers and blacksmiths, came to him as blank slates, ready to soak in what he had to offer. No preconceptions, no "Doctor Tully taught me to do it this way," no illusions of grandeur. They wanted to learn in order to protect their homes and families. When one of them finally understood a particularly complex idea, Rodney puffed up with a pride he'd never experienced before – a pride in someone else.

It was an amazing feeling.

So, every six weeks, Rodney packed an overnight bag, replete with coffee pot and his favorite roast, and headed to The Compound, and seriously, Sheppard should be banned from naming anything again. Ever.

Of course, Rodney put up a token protest just to keep Sheppard on his toes. Couldn't let the man get too comfortable or he might forget how valuable Rodney was.

"How long does it take to tie your shoes, McKay?" Sheppard, fully kitted out, lounged in the doorway of the ready room. "We're waiting."

Rodney, who'd had to tie and retie his boots eight times before Sheppard came looking for him, merely shrugged and bit his lip, putting on his 'I'm completely focused' face as he precisely double-knotted the laces. "Can't be too careful. I wouldn't want to trip and fall." He drew out the last word and glanced meaningfully at Sheppard who flushed.

"One time in the middle of the night five years ago." Sheppard arched a brow. "And I believe I was trying to help someone who'd gotten lost after leaving his lab."

Rodney had forgotten that part, but still, he never got tired of winding Sheppard up. "It's not my fault you can't read a map."

Sheppard gave him a flat look. "It took me and Zelenka an hour to find you because you couldn't remember which building you were in, and all I got for my trouble was a sprained ankle." He pushed off the wall. "Now, let's go."

Rodney swallowed a grin and squawked indignantly when Sheppard jerked him to his feet. "Hey! I bruise easy."

Sheppard muttered something dire under his breath that Rodney decided to ignore as they walked into the gateroom where Ronon and Teyla were waiting. At Sheppard's signal, Chuck dialed the gate and minutes later the team was stepping into the early morning sunlight of a brisk spring day.

Teyla breathed deeply, a warm smile spreading across her face as she took in the blanket of pink wildflowers that stretched from the gate to the nearby copse of trees covered in white blossoms. "It is beautiful here."

"Are you kidding? My sinuses are already clogging," Rodney replied while he dug through his vest for his antihistamines. "I still think we should've brought the jumper."

Ronon slapped him on the back and pushed him forward onto the path that led through the pollen-laden meadow and forest to the village ahead. "Walking won't kill you."

"Says you." Rodney checked for life signs while his teammates surrounded him and scanned the perimeter. "We're clear."

The trip wasn't really so bad nor was the walk very long – about ten minutes. It was the principal of the matter.

"What if it had been raining?" Rodney demanded. "What if I step in a hole and twist my ankle? Any number of things could happen between here and the village. We should always use the jumpers if we can. That's why the Ancients made them."

"The Ancients made them for space travel, not so you could get out of walking a half-mile," Sheppard shot back.

"What do you think you will catch for dinner tonight, Ronon?" Teyla asked loudly. Really loudly.

"Depends on if we find anything," Ronon answered. "Last time all the game got scared away by the explosions."

"Don't blame me." Sheppard tucked his sunglasses in a pocket when they reached the edge of the forest. "I told you we were practicing with the grenade launchers the Genii provided."

"But not this time, right?" Ronon asked.

"This time we're working on tactical assaults."

"My group is practicing our knife work," Teyla said.

"We're doing a refresher on Molotov cocktails first, and then we're covering smoke screens, and don't you look at me like that," Rodney snapped when Ronon glared at him. "I detailed it in the itinerary. Besides, it's not until tomorrow. Today, Sheppard's making us combine with his group to do firearms training and calisthenics."

Rodney grimaced, the idea of calisthenics leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His body hurt for days after. He'd offered to drill his people the way Ronon and Teyla did, but even Teyla had laughed at that.

"Suck it up, McKay," Sheppard said as they entered the village. "Okay, kids. You've got an hour before everyone is scheduled to arrive. Make sure you have what you need. We'll meet back here in forty-five minutes."

Ronon dashed toward the hills on the far side of the village while Teyla moved to the building they had remodeled into a gym. Sheppard checked their cache of weapons, and Rodney headed to his work area – the town saloon. His teammates had snickered when he called dibs on it, but where else would you find large amounts of flammable liquid? Getting to sample liquors from various worlds was just a fringe benefit.

So far, the fire ale from Renos was his favorite.

Rodney shrugged off his vest and pack, did a quick tally on the bottles – nothing new from any of the recent basic trainees, nothing left anyway – and set up his supplies. They would have to be frugal with the sugar, but they had plenty of cloth and enough paraffin to soak it in. Rodney reset the room to the junked-out state of most pubs in Pegasus, at least the ones he'd been to, and then he headed outside for last minute details before the trainees arrived.

"Status?" Sheppard asked.

"No sign of anyone being here since the last team left," Ronon reported. "All the markers are still in place."

"I have not seen anything amiss, either," Teyla said. "My room is set for the instruction period after which we will move outside to simulate real combat."

"It seems your Marines left a few bottles behind so as soon as you're done torturing us, we'll be ready to do something useful," Rodney said.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "I hardly think that learning a bit of discipline counts as torture."

"As long as your people aren't too tired, Sheppard," Ronon said. "My guys will be ready for you."

Sheppard gave a slight smile – the scary, deceptive one the bad guys always mistook for compliance but which really meant he was plotting something heinous. Rodney was thankful to be working inside for the next couple of days. Ronon's team would spend today setting traps which Sheppard's team would try to avoid as they hunted each other over the following two days. Sheppard and Ronon called it training. Rodney called it an accident waiting to happen – a testosterone fest that usually ended in broken bones.

The trainees filtered in, men and women from several different worlds, but all of whom had shown great promise in previous sessions. This would be the most advanced course yet. Rodney spotted his protégés – two women from Sarlor and a man from some unpronounceable world with lots of consonants and no vowels. Ronon's three greeted Sheppard, Rodney and Teyla then bounded away with their fearless leader, grinning maniacally. Teyla's class bowed respectfully and followed her to the gym. The remaining six chattered brightly until Sheppard wheeled with his drill sergeant face on.

Rodney hadn't known Drill Sergeant Sheppard even existed until the first time they'd held a training session. Casual, goofy John Sheppard disappeared completely when the drill sergeant emerged. Sheppard had explained about how drills formed good habits which would help them perform under stressful conditions, blah blah blah. Rodney didn't give a flying flip about any of that. He only cared about not getting dead.

He had heard, from Marines of course, that the Air Force was the softest, cushiest of the military branches. Rodney was fairly certain none of those Marines had met Drill Sergeant Sheppard because, damn. Sheppard didn't shout, didn't have to. He had a cold, quiet voice combined with flat eyes and a rock-hard face that put the fear of God in anybody who saw him.

Those eyes guest-starred in Rodney's worst nightmares. He fervently hoped to never see them turned on him in real life. He forgot sometimes how lethal Sheppard could be. Ronon's every move proclaimed his skills, and Teyla carried herself in a way that left no doubt about her ability to do severe harm, but Sheppard masked his dangerous side under a slouch and a cocky smile.

"Form up," Sheppard ordered.

The group silenced instantly and fell in. Rodney lined up with them because it was the leaderly thing to do. And because Sheppard had threatened to hold his coffee hostage. After a gazillion push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks, Rodney was sucking air and dripping with sweat. Sheppard, the bastard, looked like he'd been for a stroll in the park. Their students ranged somewhere in between.

"Now that we're warmed up, time for a run," Sheppard announced.

Rodney bit his lip to keep from groaning out loud. _Coffee_, he reminded himself as he took the six and damn Sheppard for getting him to think in military terms. Sheppard led them toward the abandoned fields on the east side of the village, away from the gate to the south and the forest to the north where Ronon was. By the time the run ended, Teyla would have her people in the hills to the west of the village.

Sheppard called a soft cadence, setting a challenging but not overwhelming pace. Rodney detested running with every ounce of his being, but years of being chased by the Wraith had shown him the wisdom of it. He'd finally broken down and asked Ronon how he'd learned to run for so long without dying. Ronon had stared at him like he'd grown another head and then told him to think about something other than his body.

Which was insane because his body was screaming in agony as they pounded down an animal trail then through rows of corn-like stalks. But Rodney tried anyway, conjuring up the equations for his jumper hyperdrive as Sheppard's cadence droned on the edge of his consciousness like a metronome from his piano lesson days. Before he knew it, they were back in the middle of the village, and Sheppard was grinning at him. Suddenly Rodney's legs turned to noodles and he sank gratefully to the ground and chugged half his canteen in one gulp.

"Ten minute break," Sheppard announced. "Get hydrated and stretch while I get the weapons. McKay, with me."

Rodney glared as he climbed to his feet, but remembered not to whimper in front of the class. He hobbled along first to Sheppard's house to get his vest and P-90 and then to the general store where they kept the weapons stored in the back basement.

Sheppard froze, his right hand settling on his sidearm as he slowly scanned the room.

"What's wrong?" Rodney whispered.

"Someone's been messing with the lock." Sheppard knelt by the Ancient device and trailed his fingers over the obvious tool marks. "Life signs?"

Rodney reached for it, patting his chest in panic. "I left it in my vest."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes then gave a sharp nod, curling his hands around his P-90. "Let's go get it."

"Shouldn't we, uh…" Rodney jerked his head toward the cache of weapons.

"Don't know what they did, but it won't open." Sheppard toggled his radio. "Ronon, Teyla, report back to The Compound immediately." He paused. "Ronon, Teyla, do you copy?"

Rodney cupped a hand over his earpiece, but all he heard was static. Then he listened closer, frowning as a weird harmonic hummed. "We're being jammed."

Sheppard's brows shot up. "That's new. Okay," he blew out a breath, "Ronon and Teyla know what to do if they can't reach us at check in which is in…thirty minutes." He lifted his P-90 to his shoulder and turned toward the front of the store. "Life signs detector first. I need to know if there is a threat."

Rodney nodded and followed him to the door. The saloon was down the street and around the corner, over a hundred meters away. Sheppard slipped out in a half-crouch, head swiveling as his eyes scoured the hard-packed dirt road and the wooden sidewalk that separated it from the empty shops and homes. Rodney reminded himself to breathe and to not crowd Sheppard as they crept to the edge of the store and scampered across the alley to the next series of buildings.

Sheppard slid along the wall, peeked in the door, and continued on. Rodney tiptoed after him, heart in his throat and sweat dripping in his eyes, clutching his handgun until his knuckles turned white. He could defuse a bomb without blinking and had faced more life-or-death decisions than he could count, but playing soldier was still way out of his comfort zone. He never could figure out how Sheppard handled it so effortlessly, though he suspected that Sheppard actually just hid it better, at least while awake. Overnight missions and infirmary stays had a way of evening things out.

When they reached the end of the block, Sheppard held up a fist. Rodney stopped, hugging the wall. Sheppard inched forward and poked his head around the corner. After a second, he waved Rodney forward. They needed to go halfway down then cross the street.

Rodney dashed to Sheppard's side and peered around him. "Anything?"

Sheppard's eyes were in constant motion. "Haven't spotted them yet, but I can feel them." He repositioned his P-90 and glanced back at Rodney. "Stay here."

Rodney gulped and nodded. Sheppard moved forward with ninja stealth, rolling silently heel-to-toe and showcasing a side of himself that Rodney knew little about. After that original meeting in Antarctica, Rodney had helped himself to Sheppard's official record, the one with large gaps that screamed Special Ops. He would have dug deeper, but Sam had "suggested" that he stop, mentioning that worse things than Siberia existed. Rodney's voracious curiosity wasn't satisfied, but his sense of self-preservation overrode it, and in the intervening years, Sheppard's actions had proved Rodney's suspicions. None of the ordinary Air Force personnel Rodney had met could touch Sheppard's abilities as a sniper or pilot, not to mention his crazy-assed out-of-the-box ideas that shouldn't work but usually did, managing to save their lives and Atlantis on countless occasions.

Sheppard halted mid-stride and slowly scanned the street. Rodney did the same, stretching his senses and briefly wondering how soldiers functioned without life signs detectors because he couldn't find anything out of the ordinary, yet the coiled tension in Sheppard's body meant his spidey sense was going nuts.

The first gunshot echoed so loudly in the barren streets that Rodney had no idea where it came from. Sheppard's right leg folded and his body jerked as another bullet slammed into him. He hit the ground, rolled into the street, and came up firing into the saloon. Dirt flew as bullets peppered the road around him.

"Get down!" Sheppard screamed.

Rodney blinked at him then flinched as wood splintered near his head. He dropped to his stomach and crabbed forward like Sheppard had taught him. "John!"

"Take cover right now, McKay!" Sheppard ripped the magazine from his weapon and shoved in another.

"What about you?"

"Now, Rodney!"

Sheppard pushed up on his good knee and sprayed ammo into the saloon and surrounding buildings. Movement caught Rodney's eye as a figure emerged from a shop three doors down on Sheppard's blind side. Training and muscle memory took over; seconds later Rodney's gun ejected the last shell and the bad guy was lying in a heap on the sidewalk. Sheppard cut down two others who had darted into the street from somewhere behind Rodney, fake P-90s still clutched in their hands.

Rodney jammed his gun back in the holster, wishing again for his vest. A muffled cry sounded from the saloon and a man stumbled out, a warped P-90 sliding from his hands. Sheppard tossed his spent P-90 to the ground and reached for his sidearm. The man launched himself at Sheppard who ducked and rolled, smashing his elbow into the guy's nose. The man staggered back then roared and slammed his fist into Sheppard's upper left arm. Sheppard blanched and grunted. Rodney swore he saw tears but it could have been sweat streaming down his face. Sheppard threw himself against the man, and they grappled, a flurry of fists and knees and elbows.

The man planted a boot in Sheppard's mid-section. Sheppard doubled over, clutching at his ribs. The man stepped forward with a grin which must have been what Sheppard wanted because he twisted on his side and lashed out with his good leg, sweeping the man off his feet. The man landed hard on his back, and Sheppard paused to suck in a breath so painful and loud Rodney heard it from his spot on the sidewalk.

Then Sheppard's knife flashed. Rodney thought it was over until the man countered with a blade of his own. Sheppard was up on one knee, his bad leg splayed to his right. The other man had size and mobility on his side. Where the hell was Ronon?

The man swiveled, knife arcing toward Sheppard's chest. Rodney wanted to scream a warning, but the words caught in his throat. They weren't necessary anyway. Sheppard dropped to his stomach and rolled, burying his knife in the man's thigh then ripping it out.

Blood squirted. Sheppard scrambled away as the guy staggered forward, dropped his knife and sagged to his knees with his hands pressed to the wound. A minute ticked by, then another. The blood pool grew. Finally, the guy slumped to the ground face down and stopped moving.

Sheppard sat back, chest heaving as he gasped for air. A gunshot popped. Sheppard arched, reaching for his neck, and then his entire body convulsed. He crumpled to the ground, arms and legs rigid. Rodney stared in horror as dirt kicked up around Sheppard. He had no way to return fire, nothing to use to protect Sheppard or himself.

Rodney's eyes locked on Sheppard's still-holstered handgun. Even as his body coiled and he leaped into the street, his mind taunted him with all the horrible ways he was going to die. Rodney covered Sheppard's body with his own, sure that he could locate the gun easier if he had his eyes open but his eyes wouldn't cooperate. A bullet whizzed past his ear and another spit dirt in his face. All Rodney could do was curl tighter around Sheppard.

Something whined and crackled.

The shooting stopped.

Rodney held his breath.

"McKay!" Ronon shouted.

Rodney opened one eye to the most beautiful sight in the world – Ronon running full out for him with that fantastic blaster in hand. He was really going to have to figure out how to reverse engineer a few.

Ronon slid to a stop beside him. "You all right?"

Rodney blinked at him then jerked up. "Oh, my God. Sheppard!"

Sheppard lay limp on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head and right shoulder from the gash in his neck, a stark contrast to his translucent skin. His left arm and right leg were also soaked in blood. Footsteps pounded around them, and Rodney flinched as someone else dropped next to them.

"The area is clear, Doctor," one of his trainees said. "Teyla has contacted Atlantis."

Rodney stared, trying to process the words.

"We got all the bad guys, McKay," Ronon interpreted. "Help's coming. How's Sheppard?"

Rodney reached for Sheppard's neck then pulled his hand back. "I… I don't…"

Ronon laid one hand on Rodney's shoulder and the other on Sheppard's chest. "He's breathing," Ronon said. "You did good."

Rodney nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the slight rise and fall of Sheppard's chest. _Fast, too fast,_ he thought. "Where is the med team?" he shouted.

"Here!" Two medics skidded to a stop next to them. "You need to move, sir."

Rodney started to argue until Ronon grabbed his collar and pulled him away.

"Let 'em work, McKay."

Rodney jerked out of his grasp, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced. His mouth was filled with the bitter taste of adrenaline, and he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn't do something. As he wheeled to reverse direction, he glimpsed the bullet-riddled doors of the saloon. Almost without thinking, he dashed inside, kicking aside shattered tables and chairs as he frantically searched for his vest and pack.

"What are you doing, Rodney?" Teyla asked from the doorway.

"I left it behind," Rodney answered, digging through a mound of shattered glass. "If I'd had it, we would have known where to look, and Sheppard wouldn't be hurt."

Teyla knelt next to him. "What are you looking for?"

"My vest. The life signs detector is in it. If I'd had it, everything would be okay."

"Rodney, stop." Teyla held his wrists in an iron grip. "Your hands."

She twisted his hands until his palms were face up. Bits of glass protruded from his fingertips.

Rodney stared at his hands, feeling numb.

"Listen to me," Teyla said. "What happened was not your fault. Having a life signs detector is not a guarantee that no one will be hurt." She surveyed the room then stood and moved to the corner to pick up his vest and pack. "The medics have stabilized John. It is time to return home."

Rodney nodded mutely and followed her out.

xxx

The infirmary was a beehive of activity by the time Rodney got there. Jennifer was shouting orders. Nurses rushed in with bags of saline and plasma, and one day Rodney would take the time to ponder how sad it was that he actually knew what they were doing. Gauze and swabs flew, and then the whole group dashed away, leaving the triage area looking like a bomb had gone off. Orderlies swooped in to clean up.

One of the med techs, Marie Something, was slowly plucking the glass from Rodney's hands, but he couldn't summon enough energy to bark at her when she swiped stinging antiseptic over the cuts. After she put band-aids on his fingers, he slid off the gurney and slumped on the sofa between Ronon and Teyla.

Rodney had lost count of the hours they'd spent like this, waiting for word on whether a teammate would live. It had been all of them at one point, but he was pretty sure that if he did some number crunching, Sheppard would lead them in life-threatening injuries.

After a couple of hours, Jennifer emerged from the operating suite. "He's going to be fine," she announced.

Rodney pushed upright, blinking blearily. "Are you sure? He was bleeding a lot, and there were seizures and everything."

"Seizures are a typical response to getting shot in the neck. It was a flesh wound that will heal a lot quicker than the broken leg. Don't ask me how, but that bullet missed the artery yet managed to snap his femur in half. He will need extensive physical therapy. The wound to his arm was a through-and-through that didn't hit anything major. He should have full use of it in a couple of weeks."

"May we see him?" Teyla asked.

"He's in recovery." Jennifer smiled tiredly. "But you can peek in for a second. Then I want all of you to grab a bite to eat and get some rest. Colonel Sheppard isn't going anywhere."

She led them to recovery and pulled back the curtain. Sheppard was hooked up to a host of machines and had bandages wrapped around his neck, leg and arm. Tubes ran from under the sheet to a variety of suspended bags. A nasal cannula was taped to Sheppard's face and oxygen hissed lightly through it. Rodney ran a practiced eye over the monitors, grimacing at the low blood pressure but happy to see a normal temperature and pulse-ox.

"Okay," Jennifer said. "Time for you guys to take care of yourselves for a while." She herded them out to the waiting room. "Eat and rest. I mean it."

After she disappeared into recovery, Ronon took a seat and folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't say we had to all do it at the same time."

"No, she did not," Teyla replied with a smile. "I will relieve you in two hours."

Rodney followed her out, thinking of heading to the Mess until he glanced down at his blood-stained clothing. He did a quick about-face, went straight to his quarters, and ripped off his uniform. The first time he'd come home covered in a teammate's blood, he'd tossed his clothes in the incinerator. He'd quickly run out of uniforms. Thankfully, the laundry had an amazing ability to remove even the worst blood stains. Rodney dropped his uniform in the specially marked bag then hopped in the shower and scrubbed until his skin was raw.

After donning fresh clothes, Rodney dropped the bag off at laundry on his way to get some food. He grabbed two sandwiches, a bag of chips, an apple, and a cup of coffee, and then went back to snag a third sandwich. He carried his carefully balanced haul to the transporter, selected his destination with an elbow, and arrived in the infirmary as Sheppard was being wheeled into the stable patient unit. Rodney waited until the medical staff had Sheppard ensconced in the far bay, and then he spread his meal on the tray table and pulled up a chair.

"What'd you bring me?" Ronon asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Rodney passed him a sandwich. "The rest is mine."

Ronon snorted and gave Rodney's head a light shove then dragged another chair over and plopped down. "Thanks."

A minute later, Teyla arrived with a sandwich and a couple bottles of water, handing one of them to Ronon. "Once you are finished, you should follow Doctor Keller's advice," she said.

"I'm good."

Teyla arched a brow. "A shower would be a wise choice."

"Oh." Ronon crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and inhaled the water. "Let me know when he wakes up."

"Do not worry." Teyla patted his arm. "I will call you at the slightest change."

Rodney downed his food while keeping an ear on the monitors and an eye on Sheppard. His color had improved from waxy skeleton white to barely alive pink, and his blood pressure had risen to the almost normal range. The adrenaline that had been fueling Rodney had dissipated, and not even the coffee could prevent the crash he knew was coming.

"You should rest," Teyla murmured.

"I will when he wakes up," Rodney replied.

Rodney sipped the coffee slowly while Teyla nibbled on her sandwich. He should probably ask about the condition of his students and about who was following up on the bad guys, but he decided that was someone else's problem. One of the odd things about working with other control freaks was that he'd become comfortable with the idea of letting other people handle certain situations, and he knew without asking that Lorne or Woolsey or someone was taking care of all those details.

The heart monitor sped up a bit, pulling Rodney from his haze. He leaned forward and squeezed Sheppard's good arm. "Wake up, Sheppard."

Sheppard moaned, his eyes rolling underneath his lids.

Teyla moved to the other side of the bed to press the call button, and then she cupped Sheppard's face in her hands. "John, open your eyes."

Sheppard's breath hitched and he shivered.

Rodney tapped Sheppard's forehead. "You in there?"

Sheppard's face twitched, and his lids parted slightly. "McKay?"

"Who were you expecting?"

Sheppard blinked, trying to focus on Rodney. "You okay?"

"No. I was almost hit by bullets today. _Bullets_." Rodney waved his fingers at Sheppard. "And I got cut by glass."

Sheppard huffed lightly. "You're fine." He turned his head to the left. "Hey, Teyla."

"Hello, John. How are you feeling?"

"Mmmm… Like I'm on drugs."

Rodney sagged back in his chair as relief replaced the last of his adrenaline. When Sheppard's slurred voice mumbled to a stop and Teyla whispered a wish for pleasant dreams, Rodney let himself drift off to sleep.

xxx

"I am not your personal taxi service, Sheppard." McKay wheeled the chair to the balcony and put on the brake. "I have work to do, you know."

John tilted his face toward the sun, eyes closed and smiling contentedly. "You always have work to do. Live a little."

"Live a… I've been hauling you around for over a week. How does that constitute 'living?'"

"Well, you're alive, aren't you?"

"Oh, ha. You slay me with your superior wit." McKay leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. "Did Lorne talk to you?"

"Yeah. The intel the prisoners gave is solid. We're hitting their base tomorrow."

"Think it will stop them?"

John shrugged. "It will slow them down, at least. According to the intel, this is a massive operation. We may not get them all."

"Any idea why they're destroying the villages?"

"They were trying to get us to spread ourselves too thin, hoping we'd send teams to all the member worlds. Thought Atlantis would be easy to take with most of our military gone."

"Unbelievable." Rodney shook his head. "No respect for scientists at all."

John grinned at him. "I'm sure they came up with that plan just to piss you off."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," McKay groused, and then flicked a glance over John. "What's the word from medical?"

"Keller says I'm healing fine even if I'm still stopping bullets with my body, but," John waved at his heavily casted leg with the arm not in a sling, "I'll be stuck in this chair for another month."

"You're awfully damn cheerful about that." McKay narrowed his eyes. "What're you hiding? Are you dying? Am I? What—"

"Nobody's dying, McKay. But due to my injured condition, I will be unable to attend the Coalition meeting with Teyla next week." John's grin widened. "Isn't that too bad?"

"How awful for you," Rodney said. "Though I'm not sure being confined to a wheelchair for six weeks is worth missing that meeting."

"I'm happy to hear that because you're going instead."

"Oh, oh no." McKay held up his hands and backed away. "I suck at half-hour staff meetings. No way I'll survive three days of political bullshit." He frowned when John's shoulders started to shake. "You're messing with me?"

John gave up trying to stifle the laughter, roaring at McKay's outraged expression. "You can be so gullible."

"A man dependent on someone to help him get around really shouldn't mistreat that someone."

"Ronon will help me."

"Ronon isn't here. He's off taming the wilds with his newest class of trainees. And Teyla is on New Athos." McKay gave John a smug smile. "I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"Your apology."

"Keep waiting." John smirked and rolled the chair straight to the door using the Ancient doodad Radek had found.

"How'd you do that?"

The door slid open and John continued inside.

Rodney chased after him. "Seriously, how'd you do that?"

"The Ancients invented jumpers and stargates. You think they couldn't figure out wheelchairs?"

"These are from Earth." McKay gaped at him. "Zelenka hooked you up, didn't he? That disloyal, ungrateful, sorry excuse for a scientist. He's going to be running diagnostics for a month. I can't believe… Wait a minute. You've had me carting you all over creation while you've been able to get around on your own?"

John spun gracefully and backed into the transporter, waggling his brows as the map lit without being touched.

"I'm going to remember this the next time you need a minor miracle to save the universe!"

John gave McKay a mock salute as the doors shut in his face. Radek had definitely earned that bottle of vodka. Now, if John could just convince him to finish that light saber…

* * *

_Written for the sheppard hc secret santa exchange for t'pring who wanted soldier!Shep. As always, thanks to my beta, kristen999, for all her help. Virtual chocolates to anyone who spots my nod at my favorite ep of ST:TOS._


	28. Kobayashi Maru

**Kobayashi Maru**

"Hang on," John called. "Looks like we might be in for a rough ride."

MALP video had shown the thick cloud cover over the planet that the space gate was orbiting, but without being able to take actual readings, guesswork had been the name of the game until now. The HUD flashed warnings about toxic gases and acidic rain as John angled the jumper through the atmosphere.

"This had better be worth it, Rodney." John gripped the controls when turbulence bounced the small craft like a basketball. "This is my favorite jumper."

McKay, turning a bit green, didn't bother to look up from the laptop he was glued to. "What about 'Ancient training facility' was unclear?"

"The training part," Ronon offered from behind John.

"Does it really matter?" McKay shot back. "Whatever they were training on had to be important. They were the Ancients, for God's sake. They invented _stargates_. I doubt this place is for remedial gadget repair."

"We would be wise to exercise caution." Teyla leaned forward to peek over McKay's shoulder. "As you said, they built the stargates, and Atlantis. If they needed a facility to learn how to operate weapons—"

"Weapons?" Ronon grinned. "Cool!"

John wanted to blame the marines for corrupting Ronon, except that "cool" was his fault. Some of the more colorful phrases, however…

"—or something of similar power and danger," Teyla continued, unperturbed, "we might not have the…experience to continue in their stead." She squeezed Rodney's arm when his face flushed scarlet and he began to splutter in protest. "I do not mean to disparage your abilities. The Ancestors did not leave behind sufficient instructions on many of their experiments and inventions. I do not want anyone to suffer from their lack of foresight."

The jumper veered left then bounced, cutting off conversation. John battled the controls until his shoulders ached from the strain. "McKay," he growled. "A destination would be good."

"Got it," Rodney replied. "HUD shows a shielded area twenty kilometers ahead."

"How do you know that's the facility?" Ronon asked.

McKay's head whipped up and around. "Um, because there's a _shield_."

Ronon looked unimpressed. "Could be more than one thing on this planet the Ancestors wanted to hide."

Rodney opened his mouth then shut it again with a snap before he turned back to his laptop. "Yeah, okay, that's possible."

John swallowed the laugh that wanted to bubble out. Rodney never sounded more insulted than when he had to admit that someone else might be right. But John had to give him credit – Rodney had learned to be open to what others had to say, occasionally.

McKay gave a crow of triumph. "I'm not reading any other energy signatures or shields on this continent."

"Just one continent?" Ronon challenged.

"It's the biggest one and the one the space gate is in stationary orbit over," McKay defended. "But if you want—"

"Let's go take a look," John interrupted before the sniping escalated to violence. "Not like it's going to take long."

He banked and headed toward the shield that was glowing blue on the HUD. The atmosphere was like pea soup, green and nasty, forcing him to rely on instruments alone. Not that he didn't trust the jumper or the instruments, but having a view was one of the highlights of flying, and while he knew his eyes could be tricked like the sensors could, he still felt better when he could see where he was going.

"Almost there," McKay said. "Thirty degrees down and ten degrees to the right."

John adjusted his heading and blinked in surprise when they suddenly dropped below the cloud cover. Another layer swirled below them and lightning crackled in the distance, but in the sliver of clear atmosphere ahead…

"Oh, wow," Rodney breathed. "Look at that."

A structure no bigger than Atlantis's east pier but bearing the distinctive spires of Ancient architecture appeared before them.

Hovering between cloud layers.

John knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't help himself. He'd read reports of cities in the clouds, had seen it in one of the Star Wars movies, but none of that compared to reality. He pierced through the shield, thankful the Ancients had been wise enough to design their shields to let their ships in while keeping others out, and slowly circled around then over and under the facility.

"That's… that's just…"

McKay speechless. John made a mental note of the day.

"Who's flying it?" Ronon asked.

Rodney visibly shook himself and checked the sensors. "Nobody. I'm not reading any life signs."

"I do not understand," Teyla said. "How does it float like that?"

McKay's eyes drifted up to the viewport. "I would love to know that myself."

John weaved his way through the handful of spires. "I read some of Colonel Carter's personal SG-1 mission reports when she was here. She mentioned a people she met once…"

McKay nodded. "The Nox."

"But this isn't…" John waved a hand at the structure.

"No. The energy signature is entirely Ancient. Sam only caught a glimpse of the Nox's city – they kept it cloaked," Rodney tossed over his shoulder to Ronon and Teyla, "but she said the architecture was also very different."

Teyla's face pulled into a frown. "Who are the Nox?"

"An advanced race from our galaxy," Rodney replied. "They were allies with the Ancients and the— you know, it's not important. They aren't here." He turned his attention back to his laptop. "There should be a jumper bay somewhere."

John nodded and turned, heading toward the central tower. As he'd anticipated, bay doors in the tower's roof retracted and the jumper's auto pilot engaged. The ship rotated slightly then glided into one of six berths.

The HUD flickered before copious amounts of data began to scroll while a warning flashed in the corner.

John frowned at the scrolling symbols. "Is that Ancient?"

"What does it say?" Ronon asked.

McKay cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Do not exit until bay has been completely vented." His brows shot up as he leaned forward to peer out the viewport. "Must have some kind of system that flushes the toxic air out."

"Makes sense." John stood and headed to the rear compartment for his gear. "Can't do a lot of training if the poisonous atmosphere kills you on the way in."

"Why put it in such an inhospitable place?" Teyla inquired.

Ronon scraped a knife over his whet stone. "Keep the Wraith away."

"Also keeps your people motivated to do their best so they can go home. Makes me wonder how that shield has stayed up for so long." John glanced at Rodney who was studying the data scrolling by.

"Three ZPMs." McKay looked like a man dying of thirst staring at Niagara Falls. "Same power supply for a place a fraction of the size. They have enough power to last another ten thousand years. At least."

John clipped on his P-90 when the HUD beeped and the warning vanished. "Guess we're good to go. McKay, get your stuff. Ronon, open the hatch."

McKay slapped his laptop on his back and zipped his tac vest while Ronon hit the toggle. John and Teyla positioned themselves on either side of the lowering ramp, P-90s pointed outward. Ronon slipped out, blaster drawn, and then turned in a tight circle before moving forward cautiously. McKay appeared at John's elbow, life signs detector in hand. He shook his head at John's raised eyebrow.

"Teyla," John said.

She nodded an acknowledgement and followed Ronon, with Rodney on her heels. John walked after them, closing the ramp with the remote. When they reached the door, it slid open automatically.

They stepped inside and found a round room about the size of the gym, but absolutely empty – no consoles, no buttons, no crystals, and no doors. Even the door to the jumper bay closed seamlessly into the dull silver wall.

"McKay!" John shouted.

Rodney had a scanner in each hand. "Working on it."

Ronon ran his fingers over the spot where the door had been. "Can't find anything."

Teyla stood in the middle of the room, staring at the ceiling. "John."

He moved to her side and looked up. Fibers so fine as to be almost invisible stretched across the entire ceiling like a massive spider web. Pinpricks of light danced, and John shivered as something washed over him.

"What the hell was that?"

Rodney pointed the scanner at the ceiling. "Sensors." He waved the device around then at John. "They seem to be focused on you."

Ronon raised his blaster.

"Stop!" McKay cried. "You don't know what effect shooting them will have."

"It's all right, big guy. It just tingles a little." Every alarm in John's head was going off, but how was he going to get his team out of a room with no doors? "Rodney, can you—"

McKay gasped and stiffened.

"What's wrong?"

Rodney swallowed thickly. "I think it's scanning me now."

"And me," Teyla said.

John glanced at Ronon, who nodded. The tingling sensation had dissipated, leaving John's nerves sensitive, but otherwise he felt fine. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling. The answers had to be up there somewhere.

Then a chime sounded, and a calm female voice spoke.

_Assimerulea mos ineo aen quinque minaeten. Se vus operorae non votum pergae, commodae vocalerta munaeris vus votaem uat tractauren._

After a pause, the words repeated.

"What's she saying?" John asked.

McKay shrugged. "I have no idea."

Teyla closed her eyes, face scrunched in concentration. "She is speaking the Ancestor tongue, I think. However, the pronunciation is odd, and I do not recognize most of the words."

John arched a brow at Rodney.

"Don't look at me," McKay protested. "I can only read it."

"Somebody has to translate before whatever she's warning against – and that sounds like a warning – happens." John turned to Ronon. "What about you?"

Ronon shook his head. "Warrior clans didn't have to learn the Old Languages."

Teyla's forehead puckered. "Begin… five, no, four minutes. If…something…continue…" She rubbed her eyes and bowed her head. "Something… begin in four minutes. If…"

McKay wheeled, scanner in hand. "Power's spiking."

"Where?" John asked.

"Everywhere!"

Ronon aimed for the ceiling. "Can I shoot it now?"

"No!" John and Rodney shouted.

"Three minutes," Teyla announced.

John raced to where the door to the jumper bay had been, placed both hands on it, and thought "open" as hard as he could.

"Two minutes."

"We're going to die," Rodney moaned.

"Then open the damn door!" John snapped.

"I left my magic wand in my other jacket!"

"One minute!"

"How about now?" Ronon asked.

John exchanged a look with Rodney.

"It's a training facility, Sheppard," McKay said with a shrug. "We don't know what's going to happen when the countdown finishes."

"You said we were going to die."

"Of course I would say that. It's me. I always think we're going to die. You're supposed to be the one who tells me we aren't."

The lights dimmed.

John stared hard at the ceiling. "Ronon…"

Across the room, another door opened and the voice spoke again.

"We are to enter," Teyla translated.

Ronon still had his blaster trained on the ceiling. "Sheppard?"

"Don't shoot anything yet," John ordered. "Let's see what's behind Door Number Two."

He joined Teyla at the entrance. Another empty room, bigger than the current one and covered in the same filigree that adorned the ceiling. Holding his breath, John eased his hand into what he hoped was innocent space and not a time dilation field. When his cells didn't try to rip apart, John stepped inside.

Nothing happened.

"Huh." John knelt to trace his fingers over the fibers on the floor then looped a fingernail under one and pulled. It stretched without resistance but bounced back in perfect shape when he let go. "Huh."

"What?" McKay called from the door.

"It's silky," John replied, "but it holds its shape."

Rodney pointed the scanner inside. "Power levels are back to original levels." He leaned forward and touched the filaments on the wall. "Not a very Ancient-y decorating scheme."

"Ancient-y?" John asked.

"You know what I mean." McKay's feet started moving when his mouth did. "They valued form as much as function. They liked to be surrounded by beauty." He stopped in the middle of the room. "This is not beautiful."

Teyla followed him in. "Perhaps not as you define beauty. The designer might have had different tastes."

"McKay's right." Ronon glanced over his shoulder at the still-closed jumper bay door then stepped inside. "Looks like his lab after he blew it up last time."

"I did not—"

The door slammed down, and the voice began to speak.

"Ronon!" John shouted, leaping to his feet.

Ronon pounded on the unforgiving metal door that was now seamless with the wall. He took a step back and aimed.

"Power's spiking again," McKay cried. "More than last time."

John's heart was hammering in his chest and the blood rushing in his ears almost drowned out the perfect cadence of the woman's voice. "Teyla?"

Teyla's jaw tightened. "Most of the Ancestor tongue I know is prayers. The few words I think I recognize are pronounced so differently that I am merely guessing."

"After ten thousand years, it stands to reason that the language would morph," Rodney said, not taking his eyes off his scanner. "Frankly, I'm surprised you understand any of it." He glanced up at her. "Not that you wouldn't. I'm just saying—"

"We get it, McKay." John massaged his forehead, wishing he could dig his fingers behind his eyes where the throbbing was worst.

The filigree flashed red then blue then a blinding white. John blinked rapidly, trying to clear the brilliant afterimage.

And gaped at the people in Ancient uniform on the bridge of a distinctly Ancient warship.

"What the hell?" John whirled and felt weak-kneed when he found Rodney standing behind him, muttering about occipital nerve damage. "Teyla? Ronon?"

"I am here, John." Teyla stepped from behind a console, looking so very wrong in the Ancient garb.

"Over here." Words couldn't describe how strange it was to see Ronon in the off-white uniform. "My gun and knives are gone."

John slapped at his chest, wilting when he realized all of his weapons were missing as well. "Where are we?"

"Ohhhhh…" Rodney's face matched the sigh of awe. "This…"

"Try putting together a sentence, McKay," John said.

Rodney knocked on the console beside him. "It feels so real."

John arched a brow, ready to question him, when he finally realized the people weren't moving. Not even blinking. He stepped in the personal space of the nearest one and poked his shoulder. The flesh gave but the man didn't react. John pressed on his carotid, amazed to find warm skin and a steady pulse.

"I do not understand," Teyla said as she walked around another man. "This is not real?"

"Nope. The scanner shows the same readings as before – no people, minimal power. Well, more than minimal, but definitely not enough to power an Aurora-class warship." Rodney dashed from one console to the next, pushing buttons and taking readings. "Training facility, remember?"

"Thought there were three ZPMs," John said.

"There are, but the power requirements for this place are…microscopic compared to a ship that size with a full complement of people." McKay's eyes grew large. "I bet those ZPMs still have at least half their charge. We could borrow two and still not affect performance."

Ronon's lips thinned as he circled one of the crewmembers. "So, no weapons?" he asked, throwing a punch at the hologram's head and leaping back when his hand bounced liked he'd hit rubber. "Weird."

McKay's grin was manic. "The ship would have been the weapon so in one sense, this place teaches you how to use weapons, but if you're looking for the Ancient version of Special Ops training, I think you're out of luck." He tilted his head. "Then again, maybe the woman was asking what kind of simulation we wanted. There could be all kinds of environments to choose from." He pulled out his laptop. "Maybe I can access—"

"The way out," John suggested.

"Oh." McKay looked nonplussed as he stared at rows of consoles that didn't really exist. "Yeah. Has to be a way to do that. Computer, arch." He surveyed the room then shrugged. "Worth a try."

"Try something else." John caught Ronon before he could tackle the unsuspecting holographic crewman. "Stop before you hurt yourself. He's not the gym mannequin."

The female voice spoke in Ancient again.

"Another countdown," Teyla reported. "Three, two…"

On cue, the people in the room came to life. At first, they ignored the team as they bustled between beeping consoles. John's spine tingled in response to the Ancient tech around them and the floor vibrated with the hum of the engines.

"Can you feel that?" Rodney whispered. "I only feel it on Atlantis, and never this strong."

"How is it possible?" John asked. "It's not really here."

"No, we're not really here. All of it is an illusion being fed into our brains. It can make us see, hear, and feel anything it wants."

John stared at him. "Why do I find that extremely not comforting?"

McKay offered a small smile. "Experience."

"Heading, Captain Sheppard?"

John started at the unfamiliar female voice. He turned to find a woman with ebony skin and bright red hair looking expectantly at him. "I'm sorry. What?"

She grinned. "My apologies for interrupting. Atlantis has authorized our departure. What are your orders?"

"Um…" John resisted all the flippant responses that came to mind. "Set your course for…Athos."

"Yes, sir. Helm, set our course for Athos."

"Course set for Athos," the helmsman replied.

John couldn't help himself. "Engage."

Rodney's snort of laughter was lost as the engines roared and the ship entered hyperspace.

John motioned Ronon and Teyla near. "Okay, Rodney, we've been lost in a language barrier and suddenly the…holodeck is speaking English."

"Satedan," Ronon said.

Teyla shook her head. "They are speaking formal Athosian, with proper inflections and tones."

Rodney shrugged. "I hear English, too." He glanced at Teyla. "Do their mouths match what you're hearing?"

"Yes."

Ronon nodded. "Me, too. Been a long time since I heard Satedan." He looked away. "Sounds good."

"Do you hear English or Satedan when I speak?" John asked.

"English."

"I hear English as well," Teyla said. "It truly is all in our minds."

John rubbed at the headache that hadn't disappeared. "Makes me nervous."

"Think of it like the Aurora," Rodney offered.

"But on the Aurora, I could exit when I wanted and I knew you guys were on the outside, helping me," John retorted. "How long are we going to be in here?"

"You could ask Hologirl." McKay opened the grill covering the operating crystals of the nearest console. "Go try your charms on her while I see if I can access anything here. Maybe you'll have better luck than last time."

John glared at him. "Last time was a Wraith."

"My point exactly," Rodney replied. "Now, go away while I work."

"What would you like for us to do, John?" Teyla asked.

John turned back to Rodney. "Tell me this place doesn't require the gene to run it."

"I doubt it. I'm sure those scans were for defensive purposes as well as for programming the simulator, but, to make sure…" McKay waved Teyla to the console he'd opened. "This is environmental controls. Try increasing the temperature by a degree."

Teyla studied the read-outs, pushed a couple of buttons and waited. A second later, the temperature display showed an increase of one degree. McKay crossed his arms and preened.

John swallowed a long-suffering sigh and said, "Teyla, pick a workstation and figure out what it is and how to operate it." He turned to Ronon. "Find the weapons console, and get whoever's there to show you how to use it. You need the practice." He held up a finger. "And no pounding on it this time."

Ronon's eyes almost rolled out of his head, but he wandered off in search of the tactical station. Teyla headed toward an open chair between two people with whom she immediately struck up a conversation. John couldn't spot Hologirl so he elected to walk the room, nodding sagely when people looked his way and trying to appear nonchalant as he studied their consoles in an effort to determine what each one did.

A few minutes later, Rodney materialized beside him.

"Anything?" John asked.

"Nothing. Actually, less than nothing," Rodney huffed. "My laptop doesn't recognize the connection."

"Could that be because it's connected to an imaginary console?"

McKay's glare was icy. "Of course it is. Still, there has to be some kind of computer system running this place. I was hoping the console would act as a conduit."

John propped a hip on a console and scratched his head. "Maybe we're going about this all wrong. Maybe we should ask one—"

"Captain, we are receiving a distress call from Atlantis." Hologirl was back.

John exchanged surprised glances with Rodney. "Um, okay. Let's see it."

Hologirl nodded at someone and a grainy video appeared on the main viewer. Audio was garbled, and the image rolled and pixilated, but John would recognize Atlantis's control room anywhere.

"Can you clean that up?" John asked.

"A moment, sir," the comms officer replied.

The picture flickered and dissolved then steadied.

A very stressed older man hunched over a console. "Myrrahzdy, this is Atlantis. Come in, please."

John arched a brow at Rodney who shrugged. "They were terrible at naming ships, remember?" McKay said.

"Ah." John stepped onto the center dais, his hand on the back of the command chair. "This is the Mir— Myrra— We read you, Atlantis."

"We are under attack." The man ducked as sparks showered around him. "We require immediate assistance."

"Is it Wraith?" John asked, but the man didn't seem to hear.

"Please, come quickly! We—"

The screen went black.

"Get him back," John ordered.

"I'm sorry, sir," the comms officer said. "The connection was severed on their side. They aren't responding."

Even knowing it was a simulation didn't slow the adrenaline racing through John's veins. Atlantis was Atlantis. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth as he stepped down and approached the helm. "Get us back there. Maximum speed possible."

"Yes, sir."

"What are you doing, Sheppard?" Ronon asked.

"Playing along," John responded. "It's a training facility. I want to see what happens. Maybe they have some secret of fighting the Wraith we don't know about. Besides," John glanced around the room at the incredible illusion, "what choice do we have?"

Ronon grunted in agreement and turned back to his console while John paced the bridge, reminding himself again that none of it was real. Not the young kid with sweat dripping off his nose as he manned his station. Not the older woman with iron gray hair who was double checking the contents of a first aid kit. Not even Hologirl who moved from person to person, whispering encouraging words and offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder. John wondered if these were figments of someone's imagination or if they had been modeled after real people. Over the years, John's team had been bitten in the ass by more than one Ancient piece of technology/experiment gone wrong – so much so that occasionally he forgot how brilliant the Ancients were. And brave, if these people were an accurate representation of a crew about to defend its home.

"Approaching Atlantis, sir."

"Take us out of hyperspace." John sat down in the command chair then jumped back to his feet, wondering how Caldwell had remained so calm during all those battles. "Shields to maximum."

"Yes, sir."

They dropped out of hyperspace and into a warzone. A fleet of hives was bombing the hell out of Atlantis. The shield was holding, but the spectacular barrage brought back painful memories of a nuke-bearing jumper and a last minute Daedalus save. Darts and jumpers were engaged in a dizzying dogfight. Atlantis was firing drones like crazy but the hives kept coming.

"Get us in there!" John shouted. "Ronon, lock on the nearest hive and fire!"

The ship shuddered as six hives fired at them. Drones launched, slicing the hive on their right in half.

"Great job." John squeezed Ronon's shoulder and nodded at the tactical officer at the secondary console beside him. "Fire at will." He turned to the helmsman. "Park us between the hive and Atlantis."

The boy met John's gaze with wide eyes but gave a shaky nod and keyed in the command. The view on the screen tilted then corkscrewed as they dove between hives and through a nest of darts. The hives continued to fire. Alarms shrieked. Someone screamed behind him when a console exploded.

John strode over to the comms officer. "Signal Atlantis to get that star drive in gear and get the hell out of here. We can't protect them much longer."

"Yes, sir."

But before the woman could comply, the hives turned as one and blasted at them, sending the ship careening sideways and knocking John and the woman to the floor. John scrambled to his feet and pulled her up.

They were facing her console when it exploded.

Searing pain lanced down John's left side and he glanced down, amazed to see shards of metal protruding from his shoulder, side and hip. He sank to one knee, reminding himself it was all in his mind but not really believing it. The pain was raw, consuming, and the blood pooling beneath him certainly looked real enough.

"Sheppard!"

John blinked up into Rodney's shocked face. "Hell of a holodeck," he whispered as he slumped to the floor.

His left side was on fire, but the rest of his body had turned to ice. His heart stuttered.

The wall behind Rodney exploded, spraying sparks and shrapnel…

…that froze in mid-air.

John sat up with a gasp and looked down again at a body whole and healthy, and aching like he'd gone twelve rounds with Ronon. "What…" He reached for his shoulder that still burned with pain and found nothing – no metal, no blood.

Rodney dropped to his knees and poked at John's shoulder. "Wow."

John gaped at him. "Wow? That's all you have to say? Take a look behind you, McKay."

Rodney turned, paling as he caught sight of the shrapnel that had been inches from the back of his head. "I bet that would have hurt."

John rubbed his shoulder. "You have no idea." He pushed unsteadily to his feet. "Ronon? Teyla?"

A pile of smoldering rubble – or formerly smoldering because even the smoke had paused – toppled over and Ronon jackknifed up with a yelp, reaching immediately for his neck. "I felt it break. How…"

"Colonel?" Teyla, sounding shaken, wiggled out from under a body. "Is it over?"

John resisted the urge to hug them all. "I have no idea. You okay?"

She winced as she pressed her hand to her back. "I believe so."

_Vus taeneria deficiae ut perficiolo votum praecesertai. Assimerulea mos repieto aen duos minaeten._

Ronon groaned. McKay hung his head. John sighed and turned to Teyla who looked apologetic.

"Something about failure and two minutes," she said.

"Why is that in Ancient instead of English?" John demanded.

"Just to piss you off, I guess." McKay tossed his hands in the air. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Perhaps it is not a part of the intelligence that is operating the simulation," Teyla suggested. "Much like the written warnings on so many of the ruins we have explored."

McKay looked thoughtful. "An automated response to certain criteria."

The bridge vanished and the empty room returned.

"Shit!" Rodney dashed to where he'd left his laptop, frantically digging for his alligator clips. "Maybe I can attach them—"

The fibers flashed blue, red, and white.

The bridge was back. In pristine condition and filled with people.

Rodney sighed. "—to the holographic network. Damn."

"Okay." John dug his thumb into his thigh where phantom pain was slowly fading, and shook his head, attempting to push away the all-too-real sensation of bleeding out. "Throwing ourselves between the Wraith and Atlantis was not the lesson we were supposed to learn. Plus we were too far away when it started to do any good."

The voice spoke again.

"Countdown," Teyla said.

Seconds later, the exercise started again. People bustled. Machines hummed.

"Heading, Captain Sheppard?" Hologirl asked.

"Let's take a look around the solar system," John replied.

"Yes, sir. Helm, plot a course to Hervisa and back."

"Yes, ma'am," the helmsman answered. "Course plotted."

"Hervisa?" John whispered to McKay.

"Outer planet of the system," Rodney said.

"Ah." John turned to the helmsman. "Take us out."

They broke orbit over Lantea and headed into the starry vastness before them. Ronon moved to tactical while Teyla headed back to the station she'd had earlier. McKay planted himself at the sensor array. John eased into the command chair with a grimace as his body protested. The chair was surprisingly comfortable, much more so than any of the control chairs he'd operated. After a moment, he relaxed and enjoyed the view. The helmsman had done an outstanding job of plotting a course through the system. They swept past a bright yellow planet that would dwarf Jupiter. At least a dozen moons orbited it. Next was a barren, pockmarked rock that might have been a planet or a moon. A blazing red planet came after that, with lava spurts so violent that the atmosphere glowed. When they neared a dusty world that was eerily familiar, he glanced back at McKay who was staring at the screen with a clenched jaw. Definitely the world where they lost Abrams and Gaul.

Rodney turned back to the sensors then whirled around. "Sheppard—"

"Sir, we are receiving a distress call from Atlantis."

"Helm, take us back best possible speed." John glanced at the comms officer. "On screen."

The same screwed-up video with the same man bearing the same message appeared then cut off in the same spot.

John moved to Rodney's side. "What happened?"

McKay stared at the sensors, appearing baffled. "I've been scanning the system and Atlantis since this started." He looked up at John. "There was nothing there. Nothing. Then suddenly, eighteen hives." He shook his head. "It's not possible."

"It's a simulation."

"I know that. But what were these people supposed to learn if the situation was…" McKay's jaw dropped. "Oh."

"What?"

"Approaching Atlantis, sir," the helmsman called.

"Shields at maximum," Ronon reported. "Weapons ready."

John stared for a moment in horrified fascination as hives swooped and fired at his city. Drones swarmed but missed more than they hit. He settled in the command chair. "Take us in. Fire at will."

The first two shots caught the hive unaware. The explosion took it and the hive next to it out, along with at least three dozen darts. The crew cheered until four hives turned their way.

"Evasive maneuvers," John ordered. "Ronon."

Drones blanketed the area, blowing away one hive and mortally wounding another.

"John, we are being boarded," Teyla announced. "Cargo area near engineering."

"Keep firing, Ronon." John moved to Teyla's station. "Show me."

A section of the ship appeared on her screen. Red dots flowed into the sector, and other red dots that they encountered winked out.

"Wraith," John growled. "Get security down there."

"I have already done so," Teyla responded, pointing at the rapidly disappearing dots. "They will be here soon."

"Is there a way to seal the bridge?"

"I will try."

"Do what you can," John said.

"Captain, comms are down."

"We're venting atmosphere, sir."

"We've lost the engines, Captain."

"McKay, see what you can do." John flinched away from the flames crackling behind a panel. "Ronon?"

Ronon didn't lift his eyes from his console. "Almost out of drones."

"John!" Teyla screamed.

The Wraith were on the bridge.

John lunged at the nearest one in his best football tackle. It was like hitting a brick wall. The Wraith flung him across the room. He hit the wall with a bone-jarring thud and slid to the floor. He tried to scramble to his feet but the Wraith was too fast, pinning him easily. John twisted frantically but he couldn't get free. The Wraith ripped his coat open and slammed its feeding hand into John's chest.

The pain was as incredible as it had been in reality.

John arched, a scream lodged in his throat. The Wraith grinned and pressed harder. John felt his life draining away but unlike last time, there was no reprieve, no Kolya intervening. The pain grew until it enveloped him. His scream finally broke free, shredding his throat in its intensity. When he gasped for air, the screams of his team reached his ears – Ronon's roar, Teyla's cry for Torren, Rodney's shriek that quieted to a moan.

"NO!" John shouted, writhing beneath the Wraith who bore down with a snarl.

A rib snapped…

John sucked in a deep breath as the Wraith vanished. "Oh, God, please," he whispered, rolling on his side. He spotted Ronon slumped against a wall, panting but young and alive. John curled into a ball and hugged his throbbing chest.

"Goddamn Ancients," McKay muttered from somewhere across the room.

John tried to move, but his arms and legs wouldn't hold him. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In and out. Push the pain away. Bury it deep and keep going.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He yelped and scrabbled away.

"John?" Teyla, voice hoarse and face tearstained, gazed sadly at him. "The voice is speaking again. We have two minutes."

Damn. He hadn't even heard it.

"Okay." John pushed himself to a seated position, cradling ribs that weren't really broken and a chest that bore no signs of feeding. "Well, that plan sucked."

"Thanks for that, Colonel Obvious." McKay crawled to his laptop and sorted the clips. He paused, shoulders hunched. "Is that what it really feels like?"

John glanced to Ronon who turned his face away. "Yeah, McKay. The Ancients did a bang-up job with the realism." John grabbed the edge of a console and pulled himself up. "Before the battle started, what were you going to say?"

Rodney blinked blearily at him, face lined with pain. "What?"

"You were telling me about how the sensors hadn't detected the Wraith, how the simulation wasn't accurate." John rubbed the back of his shoulder where he'd hit the wall, almost surprised to feel a knot rising. Some of it wasn't illusion.

"Oh." McKay's face lit up. "Oh! Of course. It's the Kobayashi Maru."

Ronon's forehead scrunched. "What is what?"

"The simulation. It's like the Kobayashi Maru." McKay's eyes narrowed. "Do you actually watch the movies during movie night?"

"The simulation is a movie?" Teyla asked.

"No, no," McKay huffed. "The Kobayashi Maru is a test of how a cadet would react to a no-win scenario in Star Trek. Anyway—"

The illusion dissolved, returning them to the bare room covered in filigree.

McKay immediately began attaching clips to the fibers, but before he could finish, the bridge was back.

"Oh, come on!" Rodney held up a clip. "I only had one left."

"How do you defeat the Maru thing?" Ronon asked.

"You don't." McKay tucked the laptop under a console. "No-win means no-win."

"But we have participated twice," Teyla reminded him. "What more can we do?"

Rodney drummed his fingers. "In the movie, they have two options – rescue the ship and risk their own lives, and possibly start a war, or do nothing and let the Maru be destroyed. Good of the many outweighing the good of the few, and all that."

"What are you saying?" John asked. "Sit back and do nothing? You think letting Atlantis get destroyed is what they were training their people to do?"

"I have no idea," Rodney snapped. "All I know is that we've tried the rescue thing twice and we've failed." He rubbed his chest. "I'd prefer not to go for three in a row."

John gazed at the ceiling, still trying to grasp the purpose. "How can the destruction of Atlantis be the 'good of the many'? There are more people there than on this ship."

"Maybe Atlantis has been evacuated. Maybe the people there are military and we're carrying the civilians." McKay threw his hands wide. "Hell, maybe the lesson is not about choosing the good of the many, but being willing to sacrifice the innocent."

John stared at McKay in disbelief, his breath caught in his chest. Sacrifice the innocent? What kind of lesson was that? Was the ship carrying some special technology or data that made it more valuable than all of those lives? He closed his eyes. Could he do it? Could he stand by and do nothing while innocent people died?

"It's a simulator, John," Rodney murmured.

John took a deep breath and met McKay's eyes. "I know that. I'm not sure it makes a diff—"

"We are about to begin," Teyla said.

The bridge came to life. His team trudged to their posts while John did his best not to stagger as he walked to the command chair and sat down gingerly.

"Heading, Captain Sheppard?"

John balled his hands into fists to hide the shaking. "Take us to Athos. No, make that Sateda."

"Yes, sir. Helm, plot a course to Sateda."

"Course plotted."

"Get us out of here, Helm." John lay his head back and let the tingle of Ancient tech massage his spine. "Take us to hyperspace as soon as we're clear of the planet."

What must it have been like to command a ship like this? He'd always felt a little sorry for Caldwell and Ellis and now Carter because they were confined to a ship instead of living in the luxury of Atlantis and getting to see a new world every day, but he was beginning to see the benefits of having such raw firepower at his fingertips. Flying Atlantis took too much concentration to enjoy, but this… The hyperdrive thrummed at the base of his skull. The other systems seemed to flow just under his skin, making him feel alive and energized. No wonder Caldwell was always in that chair.

"Captain, we are receiving a distress call from Atlantis."

The spell was broken. John lifted his head and turned to the comms officer. "Are they broadcasting the proper codes?"

She blinked at him. "Sir?"

"The authentication codes. Are they broadcasting the proper ones?"

"Oh. Um…" She frowned at her console. "Everything's a bit garbled, sir. Let me try to clear it up."

"Captain?" Hologirl appeared at his side. "Is there a problem?"

"Just verifying the codes," John said. "By the way, what is your name?"

"What codes are you referring to, sir?"

"I want to make sure the distress call isn't a trick," John explained. "That it's really Atlantis calling."

Hologirl looked confused. "Our comms system has already confirmed the call came from Atlantis."

"It could still be a trick to get us to reveal our location."

"Only if we respond," Hologirl said. "Atlantis is in distress. We should at least review the message to see if we can help."

"Very well," John conceded. "On screen."

Even with his stalling, the distress call started in the usual place, begging for help against an attack then cutting off.

"Rodney?"

McKay turned, shoulders slumped. "At least twelve hive ships."

"Captain, we must do something," Hologirl urged. "Atlantis needs our help."

John let the memory of his friends' screams surface. "There's nothing we can do," he choked out. "We'll be destroyed if we try to help."

_Coward!_ his mind shouted.

"But, Captain—"

"No buts!" John pushed out of the chair and paced across the bridge. "We can't help them. We might be the only ones left."

"Atlantis's shield is collapsing," Rodney reported.

John whirled to gape at the screen. "How is that possible? That shield should have lasted for centuries."

"The same way it's possible for eighteen hives to appear out of nowhere." Rodney waved his arms wildly. "It's a goddamn simulation!"

"Sheppard," Ronon whispered, his entire frame quivering. "We can't…"

John gripped his shoulder. "It's not real, Ronon."

"Captain, please!" The helmsman had tears in his eyes. "My wife and son."

"Kobayashi Maru," John whispered.

"The city has been destroyed." McKay slumped in his chair. "Completely."

"You let them die, sir. Why?" the helmsman asked. "Why didn't you at least try?"

John stared at his shoes, swallowing thickly. "Status of the hives?"

Rodney groaned. "Half are still in orbit, scavenging I'd guess. The other half are headed this way."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Wish I was."

John scrubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the sniffles and sobs of the crew. "Can they catch us?"

"In theory, no. In this simulation…"

"Can they track us?"

"Maybe."

John was watching a tear slide down the helmsman's face when the simulation ended. The tear paused on the tip of his chin, glistening in the light but not falling.

McKay sagged in his chair. "Well, that was considerably less painful than last time."

"Speak for yourself," John mumbled, eyes still on that dangling tear.

Teyla moved to stand in front of him. "You did what was necessary to protect us."

John nodded half-heartedly, knowing she was right, knowing it was only a training exercise, feeling like he'd murdered several hundred people.

_Vus taeneria deficiae ut perficiolo votum praecesertai. Assimerulea mos repieto aen duos minaeten._

"We failed again, didn't we," John said.

Teyla's shoulders slumped. "Yes."

Ronon slammed his fists on the console. "There has to be a way to win!"

"I already told you there isn't," McKay said. "Short of…" He met John's eyes and lifted a brow.

"Cheating," John finished for him. "How? Can you reprogram it like Kirk did?"

Rodney hurried to his laptop. "I can try. Though this is definitely not like the Kobayashi Maru. To think, I was beginning to believe Kavanagh might have been right about Roddenberry being an Ancient."

John crouched next to him. "Can you do it or not?"

"I reprogrammed the Replicators which has to be a lot harder than this."

John arched a brow. "I seem to remember that not turning out like we'd hoped."

McKay stilled. "Yeah." He glanced up at John. "Do you want me to try?"

The console disappeared.

"Do it," John ordered.

Rodney connected the last clip and started typing. He paused, and they all held their breaths until he grinned and typed furiously.

The fibers flashed and the bridge returned.

"Still in," McKay announced.

"Keep at it until you have something." John studied the console layout. "See if you can squeeze between those panels. Don't want someone tripping over you and you ripping out the wires before you're done."

Rodney nodded and scooted back, wedging himself between weapons and the helm.

"Ronon, tactical. Teyla, take McKay's spot at sensors."

John turned, stopping to observe the helmsman's face, tear-free and full of life. Had such a young man existed? Did he die in the war or go to Earth? John studied him, committing his features to memory, intending to search for him in the database when they got home.

And blushed when the man came to life and caught John staring.

"Captain?"

"As you were." John nodded brusquely and took a seat in the command chair.

"Heading, Captain Sheppard?" Hologirl asked.

"I'll leave that to the discretion of the helm," John replied. "Pick someplace good."

"Yes, sir!" The helmsman practically bounced with excitement. "Course plotted and laid in."

"Take us out."

After the ship leaped into hyperspace, John stood and stretched then casually made his way to Rodney. "How's it going?"

McKay's face was pure concentration. "Found the right program. Going through the code."

"We don't have much time," John reminded him.

"Just once, I'd like to hear you say that I have all the time in the world."

John snorted. "Like you'd get anything done if you did."

"Go… sit in your chair. I'm working... Ah ha!" McKay stared at the screen more intently, his fingers a blur. "Found something."

"What?"

"Shoo."

John waited another second then rolled his eyes and headed toward Teyla. "Anything?"

"Sensors have not detected— Hive ships just appeared around Atlantis. At least twelve."

"Captain, we are receiving a distress call from Atlantis."

"Clean it up and put it on screen. Helm, take us back," John ordered, heading back to his chair. "You're out of time, McKay," he whispered as he passed.

"Almost done."

"Approaching Atlantis, sir."

"Shields up and weapons ready," Ronon said.

"Drop us out of hyperspace," John ordered. "Fire at will."

The ship rocked as weaponsfire impacted and drones launched.

"Anytime, McKay," John called.

"Come on, you stupid piece of shit!" McKay pounded on a key. "Work!"

One hive erupted in flames and spiraled away. Sparks flew as a station behind John overloaded.

"Three hives approaching," Teyla said.

John leaped out of his chair. "Rodney!"

"Done!"

"Hives firing at each other!" the helmsman shouted.

The command chair exploded. John flew forward and slammed into the viewscreen. Pain blazed from his collarbone to his wrist. He slumped to the floor and howled as bones ground together.

The consoles and crew flickered, disappearing then reappearing in a nauseating flash.

"Help me!" McKay shouted.

John blinked the spots from his vision, searching for Rodney. A door had formed and risen slightly. McKay and Ronon were trying to hold it up.

"John, what is wrong?" Teyla asked, dropping beside him.

He groaned. "Little too much realism in that last blast."

"Can you move?"

"Oh, hell yes." He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders and let her help him to his feet. Together they staggered to the entrance. "McKay?"

"It's all I've got, John."

"Teyla, get his laptop."

She nodded and dashed to retrieve it, returning seconds later.

"Go," John ordered.

"John," Teyla began. "You are injured…"

He smiled wryly. "I'm going to need you to pull me through. Go."

She wiggled under the door then extended a hand. John bit back a moan as he lowered himself to the ground and grabbed her hand, but he couldn't hold back the tears when his collarbone jarred as she pulled. He pushed with his feet, hoping to end the agony as soon as possible. When he cleared the entrance, he rolled on his back, panting.

Teyla gripped the door. "Your turn, Rodney."

McKay crabbed through and climbed to his feet. "Come on, Ronon."

"Can you hold it?" Ronon called.

Rodney glanced at Teyla whose face tightened in pain. "We'll try," he said as he got into place.

"Laptop," John gasped, rolling onto his knees and shuffling to the doorway to wedge the computer underneath the door.

"Aw, that's my favorite laptop," Rodney whined, face red as he strained to hold the door.

Boots pounded and Ronon slid under the door like he was stealing a base, pulling the laptop free at the last second. He handed it to McKay as the door slammed shut. "Need you to open the other door."

Rodney turned the computer over. "Where are the clips?"

Teyla pointed at the door that was rising and falling like it was possessed. "I couldn't unclip them. The hologram was still in effect."

"Well, now what?" Rodney asked.

John sagged against the wall as Teyla knelt to secure his arm and shoulder with a bandage. "Ronon, time to shoot the ceiling," he ordered.

Ronon glanced down in surprise then pulled his beloved blaster and fired. Red energy crackled along the fibers. Something whined loudly then six doors flew open.

Rodney turned in a circle. "Which one?"

Ronon pointed straight ahead. "That one." He offered a hand to John. "You ready?"

John took a deep breath to steel himself then nodded and gripped Ronon's hand. His vision whited when Ronon yanked him to his feet, and the world tilted alarmingly.

"Go!" Ronon shouted. "I've got him."

John clutched Ronon's shoulder, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. "Lead the way," he whispered, allowing Ronon to drag him across the room and into the bay. "Remote."

Ronon pulled the device from his vest pocket and lowered the ramp. Teyla and Rodney scrambled inside as the world tilted again. Ronon stumbled sideways.

"Is the facility moving?" John asked. "Thought that was in my head."

"Get a move on!" Rodney shouted.

John gritted his teeth and ran, ignoring the agony in his chest and arm.

As soon as they cleared the ramp, Ronon yelled, "Go, McKay!"

The jumper lurched then lifted off, heading for bay doors that were still closed.

John staggered forward and placed a hand on the jumper console. _Open!_

The bay doors jerked partially open then paused for a long moment before opening fully. John slumped in the co-pilot's chair as the jumper soared upward.

"Straight up, Rodney. Don't try to fight the turbulence. When we get out of the atmosphere, we'll find the gate." John caught a glimpse of the facility as it teetered wildly then slid into the cloud cover below. "Damn."

"Didn't even get a chance to find out what it was trying to teach us," Ronon said.

"The lesson may have been self-discovery," Teyla mused. "I believe the phrase is 'to see what we are made of'." She handed John pills and a bottle of water. "Besides flesh and bone."

John smiled gratefully, swallowing the pills and water, and tried not to grimace too much as she removed the hastily tied bandage and put a sling on.

"No ZPMs, either," McKay groused, keeping an iron grip on the controls.

"Relax, Rodney," John admonished, "so you don't break the controls off in your hand." He leaned back with a sigh. "This will be the easiest thing you've done today."

"I don't know. Sleep came pretty easy this morning until that retched alarm went off." A small smile twitched on McKay's lips. "Why do you schedule missions so early?"

"Oh-nine-hundred is hardly early, McKay." John closed his eyes and breathed through the pain, almost excited about the time he would soon be spending in the infirmary. "For most people."

"It is mid-morning on Athos," Teyla said.

"Day's half over on Sateda," Ronon added.

"All of you suck."

John chuckled as the space gate came into view. "Let's go home."

* * *

_As always, many thanks to kristen999 for the fabulous beta. All faults mine. Written as a pinch hit for the sheppard h/c secret santa exchange for sian1359. Prompt: gen teamfic with John soldiering on, spending little time in the infirmary._


	29. Worthy of Care

**Worthy of Care**

Ronon was not a man of inaction. He suspected it was genetic. Satedans didn't sit when they could stand, didn't walk when they could run. He'd almost left Atlantis after his first week when he'd continuously seen soldiers sit around in rec rooms and the Mess and do nothing. _Nothing_. Ronon had faulted Sheppard and his lazy ways until he'd gotten to know the man and discovered the intensity underneath the slouch. Hours of studying Earth culture – reading their books, watching their entertainment, learning their history – had offered insights into why they could be so relaxed.

Years in Pegasus had cured most of them of it.

His team rarely stood down short of devastating injury so he hadn't been too worried when McKay had announced he was making use of his vacation time and heading to Earth for a couple of weeks. "Geek convention," Sheppard had said. But when Teyla requested leave to spend some time on New Athos, Ronon's feet started to itch. The fire in his blood that the Wraith had kindled so many years ago still burned hot, too hot to be cooped up for days in a city of metal and stone. Fortunately, time had taught Sheppard of Ronon's need to keep his skills sharp, and he suggested a camping trip to an untouched beach.

Which was spectacular right up to the point that Sheppard lost his footing on a cliff and plunged at least five meters through a tangle of vegetation until a quick stop at the base of a tree left him with a broken ankle and a flaming case of poison _lusak_. Ronon had to bite the inside of his mouth every time he saw the fluorescent orange patches on Sheppard's face and arms. The pictures were going up on the base computer network as soon as Teyla got back and showed Ronon how to download them from McKay's camera. In the meantime, he was on his own since Sheppard refused to budge from his quarters until the rash was gone.

Maybe it was time to get to know some other people.

Ronon headed toward the door of his room but stopped before it opened. Did he remember how to make friends? His friendships with Teyla and Sheppard had been the natural outcome of being on a team together, and he'd had plenty of friends when he was young, but that had been a lifetime ago.

Where to start?

The gym. He knew most of the Marines by name from the classes he taught, and that tech, Amelia Something, said she took kickboxing. Maybe she would be around. She might be worth getting to know. He sailed out the door, trying to wipe off the silly grin twitching his lips, and rounded the corner, almost plowing into Lorne.

"Sorry," Ronon said as he screeched to a halt.

Lorne held up a finger and pressed his other hand to his ear. "I understand that, Mr. Woolsey. I'll get to it as soon as I can, but I'm spread a little thin at the moment." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Tell the doc I'll try to have someone there by tomorrow." He lowered his hand and opened his eyes with a tired grin. "Not your fault, Ronon. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"What's wrong?"

Lorne raked a hand through his hair. "We've got several teams off-world searching for the last remnants of Michael's hybrids and the rest of my people are clearing a section of the city so the new personnel arriving on the Daedalus in a couple of weeks will have a place to sleep. Beckett called in requesting supplies, and Woolsey wants me to find a team to haul it to him." He sighed. "I've been trying to avoid bothering the colonel with crap like this."

Even though they rarely worked together, Ronon had felt a certain kinship with Lorne since being Sheppard's "protector" was something they both took seriously. Sheppard had enough to deal with, and the two of them did what they could to lessen the load. Maybe making friends with Lorne was a good place to start. But first…

"I'll do it," Ronon offered.

Lorne's forehead wrinkled. "Do what?"

"Take the supplies to Beckett. Not doing anything right now anyway."

"That's a generous offer, but according to Woolsey, we need a jumper which is why finding a team to take the supplies isn't as easy as it sounds. Have to have the gene to fly. Apparently the village the doc's working at is a good twenty kilometers from the gate through a thick forest."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, you'd have to carry three large cases…" Lorne chuckled. "You're right. What was I thinking?" Some of the tension drained from his face. "I'll let Woolsey know you're going. Head to the infirmary and ask for Cole. She's supposed to be packing what Beckett requested."

"Got it." Ronon took off at a trot.

"Don't forget to tell Sheppard," Lorne called.

Sheppard. Right. Ronon wheeled and stepped into the nearest transporter. He exited near Sheppard's door. When it didn't open, he pressed the chime.

"What?" a miserable voice said.

"Why'd you lock the door?" Ronon asked. "Biro told you to stay off that ankle."

"I am staying off it."

"How are you going to open the door?"

"Not opening it."

Ronon's chin dropped to his chest. "It's not going to last forever."

"My face is orange. _Orange_. With big green bumps on it."

Ronon grimaced. He'd forgotten about the side effects of the sap used to treat the rash. "But the itching stopped, right?" He took the silence as affirmation. "Listen, I'm headed off-world for a couple of days. Beckett needs some supplies delivered." More silence. "You need anything before I go?"

"No," Sheppard replied sullenly. "Be careful, okay?"

Ronon bounced a fist off the door. "Hey, it's me."

"My point exactly," Sheppard said. "And I swear to God that if you put those pictures on the intranet, you'll be babysitting scientists for a month."

"Don't know what you're talking about." Ronon hoped Sheppard couldn't hear the laughter in his voice. "See you when I get back."

Ronon hurried to the infirmary where Cole was waiting with three huge packs of medical supplies. He strapped one to his back, slung the other two over his shoulders, and headed out with a promise to not break anything along the way. Woolsey met him in the gate room and took time to fuss about him going alone with so little weaponry. Ronon waited patiently, having finally figured out that when Earthers expressed concern over his well being, they were showing affection and not disparaging his abilities as a warrior. Once Woolsey ran out of words, he nodded to Chuck who dialed the gate.

Heavy, rain-scented air greeted Ronon on the other side, and he inhaled deeply, soaking in the drizzle, the scent of new blossoms, and the animal chatter that surrounded him. His ties to Atlantis grew stronger each day, but the city didn't stir him the way rich, dark soil and sky-high trees did. Even as a child in Sateda's capital city, he'd longed for holidays at his grandparents' farm. His sister had thought him crazy, but the bright lights and non-stop bustle of the city had held no allure for him. He needed grass under his feet and game to hunt to feel whole.

He pulled his scattered thoughts together as he scanned the area around him. Other than a small animal scurrying by, everything was quiet. Ronon adjusted the packs he was carrying and stepped onto the faint path before him with a smile. Atlantis offered many things, but an obstacle-filled jogging trail of mire wasn't one of them.

Mud sucked at his boots as he ran. His dreads streamed behind him and the heavy packs bounced painfully on his shoulders and back, pushing him harder and faster up the steep hills. He let his mind go blank as he concentrated on his breathing, on the rhythmic pounding of his legs on the path, on keeping his stride even as possible as he leaped over broken limbs. His senses expanded. A brook burbled nearby. Two birds chased each other to his left while some kind of reptile watched him on the right. Breaks in the canopy allowed fat raindrops to pepper the forest floor.

An hour later, he stumbled to a stop at the crest of a hill, bracing his hands on his knees as he surveyed the village below while sucking in as much oxygen as his lungs could hold. Not his best time, but not bad considering the mud and the medical packs.

The village wasn't what he'd expected. Most fishing villages were built near water, but this one was literally on top of it. A lake covered the valley floor and a long strip of structures on stilts stretched from one end of it to the other. A sturdy wooden bridge started where the forest path ended and ran the length, offering passageway between buildings with wide porches and solid railings. Children chased each other on the bridge and through homes, oblivious to the rain, the wind easily carrying their shrieks of laughter to his ears along with the shouts and curses of men and women sitting on house balconies with nets and lines cast into the water. Ronon saw no evidence of farming or ranching; the fish trade must be good, which surprised him based on the barely worn path he'd traveled.

With a mental shrug, Ronon made his way down the bridge toward a small clump of boys kneeling in a circle, expressions intent as they played in front of a house. As he approached, one boy looked up, his eyes widening briefly before distrust turned his features cold. The other boys turned with the same unfriendly looks on their faces, and Ronon stopped, taken aback. He was used to curiosity and even fear, but rarely had he been met with open hostility, especially from children.

"Why are you here, stranger?" the first boy asked, his voice full of challenge.

Ronon applauded the boy's bravado and decided to treat him accordingly. "Got supplies for Doc Beckett. You know him?"

The boy's expression flickered at the mention of Beckett's name, but the distrust held. "Maybe. What's your name?"

Ronon folded his arms over his chest, making a show of his biceps. "Ronon Dex. What's yours?"

The boy's eyes drifted to the blaster hanging low on Ronon's hip then traveled up to the set of Wraith bones strung around his neck. "You can leave the supplies here."

"Nope. Gotta give them to Beckett." Alarm began to niggle in the back of his brain, but a quick glance showed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he couldn't be too careful. "Where is he?" Ronon asked, his hand landing firmly on the grip of his weapon.

A woman stepped out of the shadows of the house. "You will find the doctor at the clinic, five doors down."

"Mam!" the boy exclaimed. "Did you see—"

"Enough," she replied. "If he is a friend of the healer, then we have nothing to fear from him."

Ronon nodded to her and headed toward the building she indicated, still baffled by his reception. Every person he passed, child or adult, followed him with cold eyes, their stances stiffening when he looked at them. When he reached the door, Beckett's distinct accent made him smile. The doc was one of the few people Ronon had allowed to get close, but they spent little time together these days since Beckett traveled so much. He missed the man's quick smile and gentle ways.

"Hey, Doc," Ronon called, stepping inside and rapping his knuckles on the door. "Got those supplies you wanted."

Beckett flinched hard and whirled. "Ronon, lad. You startled me." He patted the arm of the teenage girl sitting on the exam table. "Keep that bandage clean and come back if the burn begins to hurt."

The girl nodded and slid to the floor, practically sprinting past Ronon.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here." Beckett's smile didn't reach his eyes as he glanced over Ronon's shoulder. "Where is the rest of your team?"

"Just me this time. McKay's on Earth at some science meeting. Teyla's with her people, and Sheppard's hiding in his room until his poison _lusak_ clears up. Have you ever seen…" As he set the medical supplies on the floor, a carving on the wall caught his eye. "What—"

Beckett grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door. "I appreciate you coming all this way to bring those supplies. I'm sure you have a lot of things to do. I can take it from here."

Ronon tried to pull away to get a closer look, but Beckett held onto him with an iron grip. Ronon stared down at him, struggling to identify the expression on his face – a mixture of McKay trying to bluff and Teyla trying to talk him out of doing something stupid.

Every nerve in Ronon's body went on alert. He reached for his blaster while his eyes searched for danger.

"What's wrong, Doc?"

"Nothing, son." Beckett lied worse than McKay. The normally welcoming man pulled the door shut and pushed Ronon onto the walkway where the boys were huddled together, staring at them. "Let's take a walk."

Ronon's brows shot up. "In the rain?"

"It's the rainy season. It won't stop raining for three months according to the locals."

"But—"

"Do you see those dark clouds?" Beckett blocked the doorway with his body as he waved toward the forest Ronon had come through. "The storm will be here soon. You can either head back to the gate now or you can stay in my hut for the next two days while we wait out the storm. I'd advise you to take that walk with me."

Like hell Ronon was going to let it go, but maybe getting away from prying eyes and ears would loosen Beckett's tongue. "Sure, Doc. Lead the way."

Beckett relaxed, almost, and stepped forward. "And how are things on Atlantis?"

Ronon hesitated, wanting to go back inside to see what Beckett was hiding, but chose to follow out of respect for the man, heading back the way he'd come. "We got Michael."

Beckett froze in mid-step. "When?"

"Few weeks ago. He attacked Atlantis."

"Who…"

"Teyla." Ronon grinned. "She threw him off one of the towers."

"Good." Beckett's voice was thick with emotion as he stepped from the bridge onto the steep path up the hill that led to the gate. "Bastard deserved it."

While Ronon was in total agreement, to hear Beckett say it came as a bit of a shock. Then again, he supposed even Beckett's well-known compassion had its limits.

"And how are Teyla and young Torren?"

"Good. Didn't realize how fast kids grew."

Beckett laughed. "Walking already, is he?"

"Started last week." Ronon's chest filled with pride. "He's quick, too. Gonna be fast."

Beckett shook his head. "That poor bairn doesn't stand a chance with you, John, and Rodney around all the time. Try to let the boy have a bit of a childhood before you teach him seven ways to kill a man with your little finger."

Ronon snorted and turned to offer a hand before he realized Beckett didn't need it. Where McKay would have been red-faced and bitching, Beckett was barely breathing hard. Life traveling among the worlds of Pegasus agreed with him, kept him fit and filled with purpose. And usually very glad to see anyone from Atlantis. Except today.

"Doc, back there in the village…"

"Let it go, Ronon." Beckett had already started down the other side of the hill toward the forest. "You mentioned something about John and poison _lusak_?"

Ronon huffed in annoyance but jogged forward to catch up. He relayed the story of Sheppard's mishap as they walked, letting his eyes scan the woods, taking the time to soak in the beauty instead of racing past it as he had on his way in.

And that's when he saw it – a carving in a tree trunk with the same swoops and curls as the one in Beckett's room. He trailed off as he moved toward the tree.

"Ronon, lad, what are you… Oh, God." Beckett clutched at his sleeve. "Leave it and come on."

But Ronon wouldn't be put off this time. Horror flooded through him as he finally got a good look at the carving on the tree.

"Ronon, please."

Rage quickly replaced horror. Ronon pivoted and drew his blaster, intending on slaughtering every soul in the village.

Beckett stepped in front of him. "Calm down."

"Do you know who these people are?" Ronon growled, waving a wild arm toward the town.

Beckett folded his arms and matched his glare. "They are human beings. That's all I need to know."

"Wraith worshipers!" Ronon roared. "Collaborators!"

"They are people, son." Beckett stepped forward and gripped Ronon's arms. "Admittedly misguided, deluded even, but people like me. And you."

Ronon flinched as the words brought up memories he'd tried to forget, memories of betrayal and loss and weakness. Adrenaline and rage pumped through him, and he sucked in a ragged breath, fighting his instincts, remembering lessons taught by Weir and Teyla – listen and consider. "You saying the Wraith tortured all those people into becoming worshipers?"

Beckett shook his head sadly. "No, as far as I know it was a conscious choice someone made long ago. Those people were raised as worshipers. They've never known anything else."

"What's your point?"

"They aren't bad people, Ronon. They are fair traders, love their children, enjoy strong drink and a good joke." Beckett leaned toward him, eyes shining earnestly. "We can help them, show them who the Wraith really are. But they have to know we're trustworthy before they'll listen."

Ronon bowed his head at the man's naïveté. "Doc, it won't matter how much they trust you. They know who the Wraith are. Worshiping the Wraith keeps them alive, and that's all they care about." He straightened and held Beckett's gaze. "Do they know you aren't one of them?"

"Of course they do."

"Have you ever told them?"

Beckett rolled his eyes. "I'm not a fool. I made it quite clear when I arrived that I didn't hold to their beliefs."

"And they trusted you?"

"Well," Beckett's gaze dropped, "the worshipers on the last world gave me a good recommendation."

Ronon groaned and wiped the rain from his face. "If other worlds find out you're helping these people, you might not be welcome. Or worse." He wondered if Beckett really understood the kind of danger he could be in. "Even associating with Wraith worshipers brings a death sentence on some worlds."

Beckett smiled gently. "I won't let anyone dictate who is worthy of medical care, not even you, son."

"Doc…"

"I'll be fine." Beckett patted his arm. "Now, finish telling me about your camping trip."

Ronon wanted to argue, wanted to plead with Beckett to change his mind, but he knew it was a waste of time. Beckett's stubbornness was legendary, which usually worked in his favor, and in the favor of his patients. Ronon knew the man would never give in, no matter the danger. Ronon also knew how real the danger was. Sateda had been one of the worlds where worshiper association carried a death sentence. Ronon had been witness to it many times, had been on the execution squad twice. He'd carried out his duty without hesitation, certain that the accused was guilty, a certainty that had grown after the Wraith ships appeared, the ships they shot down which led to Sateda's destruction. But now – he glanced at Beckett – what if he'd been wrong? What if they'd executed innocent people who were trying to help a friend?

He shook the thoughts away. What-ifs never helped. What's done is done, as his father used to say. And those deaths were so much less painful than what the rest of Sateda had received at the hands of the Wraith.

A low rumble pulled him from the memories. Ronon turned, seeking the source of the sound. The ground beneath his feet shook, and the trees swayed, showering them with water and leaves.

"We need to go." Beckett's voice was hushed and intense as he stared up at the cliffs behind Ronon. "Now."

Ronon didn't argue. They whirled as one and sprinted back the way they'd come. The quaking grew worse. Rocks and debris sluiced past, carried on streams of muck.

"Run, lad!" Beckett shouted. "Fast as you can!"

Ronon staggered sideways as a wave of mud slammed into him. He turned, intending to grab Beckett, but the ground beneath his feet dissolved and whipped his legs from under him. Then he was sliding on his back. Branches whipped his face and arms. Rocks pelted his shoulders. Ronon flailed, barely able to keep his mouth and nose above the tide of mud and debris.

When the ground rose slightly, he slowed enough to wrap himself around a tree. Mud stung his eyes, filled his ears, slicked his arms and hands; he could barely hang on as a river of muck flowed past. Ronon braced his forehead against the tree trunk and coughed until he was certain he was losing a lung. The lacerations left scarlet rivulets through the almost black mud on his arms, and he felt warm blood trickle down his neck. McKay would be having a fit about now, worrying about infections and germs and…

Beckett.

"Doc!" Ronon bellowed. "Where are you?"

Silence, except for the fading roar of the slide.

Ronon leaped away from the tree and spun in a circle – everything was covered in the thick black mud. How was he going to find Beckett?

_Think!_

Beckett had been dressed in the standard black Atlantis uniform, not helpful against the black mud, but any clothing would be covered in it so it didn't really matter. His hair and skin would be covered with it, too.

Of all the times to not have Sheppard or McKay and one of their gadgets.

Ronon raced uphill to search for the carving in the tree, praying it was the only one. When he found it, he began to climb down, scrutinizing the forest floor for any man-sized lumps.

He found one half a meter away, wedged between two trees, face down.

"Doc!"

Ronon skidded to Beckett's side and lifted his face out of the mud.

Not breathing. No pulse.

Ronon pulled him from the tangle of trees and winced as Beckett's leg, twisted in an unnatural position, caught on a branch. He raked a finger through Beckett's mouth to dislodge as much of the mud as he could then began chest compressions.

He'd been trained on life-saving techniques from the time he was a young boy, but strangely enough this was the first time he'd ever had to use them. He had no idea that they were so tiring.

"Come on, Doc. Breathe."

A rib crack under his hands. Beckett didn't react.

"Not going to lose you again, Doc."

Sweat poured down Ronon's face and arms. His shoulders burned.

"Please, Carson."

Another rib snapped.

Beckett gasped then began to choke. Ronon rolled him on his side and held his shoulders while he coughed up muddy water. Thunder crashed as the storm seemed to stop right on top of them and a steady rain became a downpour. Ronon hunched over Beckett, blocking as much of the rain as he could with his back. Beckett's breathing was ragged, and the skin that showed under the streaks of mud was almost translucent.

Ronon squinted into the deluge, searching for a place to wait out the storm. Trees, trees, and more trees, but none that offered any kind of shelter. Carrying Beckett to either the village or the gate was out of the question – too dangerous in an unfamiliar area with this kind of weather – but he had to get the doc someplace warm and dry. Finally he spotted a hollowed-out trunk that was big enough to hold both of them.

As gently as he could, Ronon lifted Beckett and moved to the tree, careful to not jar Beckett's leg as he laid him inside and crawled in after him. Beckett's pulse was thready and his breathing shallow. Ronon ran his hands over Beckett's frame, but other than the ribs he'd cracked and the badly broken leg, he didn't have any other obvious major injuries. Ronon took a moment to check himself, certain that once the adrenaline wore off, every ache and pain would make itself known. His hip throbbed and gouge marks from broken branches dotted his arms. He suspected his back looked the same.

Ronon peeled his leather coat off and covered Beckett with it before ducking back outside to find a couple of sturdy branches to use for a splint. Along the way, he picked up a large piece of bark with enough curvature to serve as a shallow bowl. When he returned, Beckett hadn't moved, still unconscious, which was probably a good thing. Needing something to hold the branches in place, Ronon tore the shredded sleeves off his shirt. He laid the branches and cloth to the side and studied Beckett's leg. A severe break in the middle of his right shin – might have broken both bones.

With a final check of Beckett's breathing and pulse, Ronon straightened the leg as much as he could, but didn't try to set it. Beckett moaned, pain flickering on his face.

"Sorry about that, Doc."

Ronon moved the branches into place and tied them tightly with the strips of cloth. Beckett flinched again then quieted down when Ronon tucked the coat around him. Next should be taking stock of his supplies, except he didn't have any. He'd always prided himself on not wearing a tac vest like the rest of his team, but he could really use one right now. The few items he carried in his coat and pants pockets – garrote, throwing spikes, Pop-Tart, whet stone – had been lost in his slide down the hill. He could gather a little water with the bark, but he had no food, no bandages, no pain relievers, nothing to help Beckett. And he'd lost his radio, too, so even if Atlantis called, he couldn't answer.

A glance outside confirmed that the storm hadn't slacked off and didn't show any signs of stopping. Might as well do something useful. Ronon ripped a corner off his shirt and began to wipe the mud from Beckett's face. He rubbed one spot several times before realizing it was a nasty bruise. Beckett was definitely going to feel that one.

The adrenaline was wearing off, and a crushing exhaustion began to settle in Ronon's bones. He eased Beckett's head and shoulders up then scooted behind him and pulled Beckett to his chest, hoping the contact would keep them both warm. Ronon's back was bowed and his knees were to his chin.

He was asleep in seconds.

Voices woke him about four hours later according to his internal clock that years on the run had honed to near precision. Ronon checked Beckett – still breathing, pulse weak but there – then eased the man to the ground and moved to the opening. The rain had slacked off to a drizzle, its drumming not loud enough to mask the footsteps nearby.

"Healer Beckett!" a voice called.

Villagers. Ronon twisted away from the opening, eyeing Beckett in indecision. If he waited until they moved on, he could get Beckett to the gate and back to Atlantis. However, carrying Beckett by himself for at least fifteen kilometers through mud and rain would probably injure the man further. Ronon couldn't leave him here alone – too many unknowns. Which left him with the option he liked least.

Trusting Wraith worshipers to care for his friend while he went for help.

Ronon closed his eyes, knowing that no matter how hard he wished it, Sheppard was not going to be smirking at him outside, McKay wouldn't be insulting him, and Teyla wouldn't be offering calm words of wisdom. The decision was his alone to make.

"Here," Ronon called. "We're here."

He crawled out and gently pulled Beckett from the hollow. Three men materialized beside them, worried eyes focused on Beckett's still form.

"Mudslide," Ronon explained. "Doc caught the worst of it. His leg is busted, and so are a couple of ribs." He met their stony gazes. "My people can help him."

The men exchanged glances then the oldest said, "Another storm is approaching. To carry him through the forest to the Gateway is folly."

Ronon nodded. "I know." He took a deep breath, fighting his instincts. "If you can get him back to the village, I can get my people here. We have…flying ships that can get through the storm."

"Healer Beckett has given much of himself to help our people. We can do no different. Go. We will care for him until you return."

Ronon squeezed Beckett's arm, nodded his thanks to the villagers then whirled and sprinted for the gate as if the Wraith were on his tail. What had been a pleasant run earlier now became a race against time. The rain grew heavier and the wind whipped his dreadlocks against his face. By the time he reached the gate thirty minutes later, he was staggering. He dialed, inputted his IDC and leaped.

He stumbled into the gate room, exhausted and soaked to the bone. "Need a radio," he gasped.

The nearest Marine handed him a headset.

"Sheppard, this is Ronon."

"_What's wrong?_" Sheppard asked.

"Beckett's hurt bad and there's a storm. Need you to fly us."

"_Meet you in the jumper bay in ten minutes._"

Woolsey hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"

Ronon waved him off and keyed the medical channel. "Need a med team in the jumper bay."

Cole answered, "_Condition and location of the patient?_"

"It's Beckett," Ronon said. "Broken leg and cracked ribs. Maybe some internal injuries."

"_Be right there._"

Woolsey arched a brow.

Ronon explained as he headed up the stairs, trusting Woolsey was following.

"I'll have a med team waiting when you get back," Woolsey said.

Ronon nodded as he strode through the control room and took the stairs to the jumper bay three at a time. Cole was arguing with Sheppard who was hobbling toward the jumper.

"Doc!" Sheppard glared at her. "I'm going and that's it. Flying a jumper doesn't require the use of my ankle." The orange patches on his skin flamed. "It's _Beckett_."

Cole stopped short, remembered pain flickering on her face. "You're right. Let's go."

Ronon grabbed the med kit from her and hurried up the ramp while Cole wrapped an arm around Sheppard's waist and helped him inside. As Sheppard ran through pre-flight, Ronon deposited the med kit in the back and accepted the towel Cole had fished out of the storage bins.

Sheppard acknowledged the permission to depart and lifted off. "How bad is that storm?"

"Bad," Ronon said, settling into the co-pilot's chair. "And the gate's in a clearing right outside the forest. You'll need to pull up fast."

"Got it."

The jumper lowered into the gate room and blasted through the wormhole. When they exited, they went almost straight up through boiling black thunderheads and massive lightning.

"Wow," Cole whispered.

Sheppard leveled out. "Which way?"

Ronon stared out at the blanket of clouds that stretched as far as he could see. He closed his eyes and concentrated on that first run through the forest. "That way," he said, pointing a little right of center. "About twenty kilometers."

They shot forward and, two minutes later, angled downward and pierced through the storm. The ship rocked as thunder boomed and lightning crackled. Ronon squinted through the blinding rain for signs of the village.

"Got 'em." Sheppard pointed at a group of red dots on the HUD. "About four hundred life signs, directly ahead."

"The village is on a pier in the middle of a lake," Ronon said. "Doubt you can land on it."

Sheppard turned to stare at him. "That might have been important to mention before now."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"No," Sheppard admitted. "It would have just been nice to know."

Ronon ignored the way Sheppard's grip tightened on the controls until his knuckles turned white and the muscle in his jaw jumped, certain that Sheppard would get them there safely. Sheppard was like that.

Touchdown was a little rougher than usual, but they were on the edge of the water, no more than five steps from the bridge.

When Sheppard turned to join them, Ronon clamped a hand on his shoulder. "You'll only be in the way."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed but then he slumped back. "Be careful."

"Always."

Ronon slung the med pack over his less-aching shoulder and trotted down the ramp with Cole on his heels. The wind swirled around them, with gusts so strong that Cole had to wrap her arms around Ronon to keep from being blown into the water. When they reached the shelter of the first structure, she hugged the wall, panting for breath. Ronon waited until her head lifted then led her to Beckett's hut. When he found the door bolted, he banged on it, shouting for them to be let in.

The door opened a crack, and the old man's eyes widened when he recognized them. Muttering about the insanity of the young, he opened the door to let them in then leaned his full weight against it to close it again.

Cole hurried to Beckett's side and began an examination while Ronon looked everywhere but at the carving in the wall.

"How is he, Doc?" Ronon asked.

She pushed soaked hair out of her eyes, her face drawn tight. "Going into shock. Bring me the kit."

Ronon set the pack at her side and backed away, experienced enough to know that if his help were required, she would ask. She worked quickly, pulling out IVs and devices and medicines. Ronon realized with a start that her fingernails were blue and she was shivering. He spotted Beckett's satchel and pulled out a towel and jacket.

"Here," Ronon said. "Can't help Beckett if you're shivering like that."

Cole quickly stripped off her own jacket, slid on the dry one and wrapped the towel around her head.

"How much longer will the storm last?" Ronon asked.

The old man shrugged. "Days probably."

Cole's head shot up. "He needs the scanner and maybe surgery. I'm pretty sure he has internal damage. He won't last days."

Ronon turned back to the villager. "When will it be safe to walk outside?"

"Hard to say. An hour, maybe two."

Cole frowned and turned back to Beckett. Ronon grabbed Beckett's satchel and began to stuff it with the few personal items dotting the room.

"You would take the healer from us?" the old man asked.

Ronon zipped the satchel and started to collect the medical equipment. "He's hurt bad."

"But you can help him so that he may return?"

Ronon glanced at Cole who was immersed in caring for her patient. "Best doctors I've ever seen." His gaze swept over the carving. "If Beckett wants to come back, that's his choice."

"You disapprove." Not a question.

Ronon turned to face the old man fully, letting the Wraith bones dangle from the cord around his neck. "You know the danger he puts himself in to help you."

Eyes flinty, the old man shot a pointed look at Cole. "Are your people more like him or you?"

"I'm not…" Ronon stopped, because while he might come from a different planet than the people on Atlantis, they were as surely his people now as if they had been born to the same clan. But that didn't mean Earthers understood Pegasus ways. They blew into the galaxy, turned everything upside down, and kept going, not knowing they had upset the balance of life. Maybe not caring. And yet surprised when people and circumstances became hostile. Teyla had infinitely more patience in trying to teach them the ways of Pegasus. Ronon relied on his blaster.

"_Ronon, this is Sheppard._"

"Here."

"_Wind seems to be dying down. How are you doing?_"

Cole activated her headset. "I've stabilized him as much as I can. We're good to go."

"On our way," Ronon reported, spotting the homemade litter propped in the corner. "Give us five minutes and open the hatch."

"_Copy that_," Sheppard replied.

The old man moved out of the way as Ronon spread the litter on the ground then helped Cole lift Beckett and lay him on it. Ronon draped Beckett's satchel and the med kit around his neck and moved to gather the other sacks of medical equipment and supplies.

"Leave them," Cole instructed. "Carson will be back."

Ronon moved to the head of the litter and knelt. Cole knelt at Beckett's feet, her back to Ronon, and on three they lifted the litter. Ronon pushed away the memory of the last time they carried Beckett's body and nodded at the old man who opened the door.

"Like him," Ronon said as he passed the man. "Most of our people are more like him."

"We await his return. May the Wr… Go in good health."

Ronon and Cole staggered out. Rain and wind whipped at them as they made their way carefully down the bridge and up the ramp of the jumper. Sheppard closed the hatch but waited to lift off until Beckett was secured and they were seated. Another quick trip straight up and straight back down then through a waiting wormhole had them in the gate room minutes later.

A med team descended and whisked Beckett away.

Cole heaved a sigh as she raked her fingers through her hair then stood and arched a brow at Sheppard. "I trust you are going to let someone help you to your quarters."

"Yeah, sure. I'll—"

"Great. Ronon, as soon as you get him there, I'll expect you to report to the infirmary."

"I'm fine. All I need…"

Cole closed her eyes and held up her hand. "When you look in the mirror, you'll understand how ridiculous that statement is. You need medical attention." She opened her eyes. "I'm not above blackmail."

"What does that mean?" Ronon challenged.

"That means," a wicked smile appeared, "I'll tell Teyla."

Sheppard shuddered. "You better do what she says."

"Got that," Ronon muttered. Since Torren's birth, Teyla had grown more protective of all of them, and heeding medical advice was at the top of her list. Ignoring it meant long hours in the gym. Meditating.

Cole smiled triumphantly and left.

Ronon growled when Sheppard began to chuckle. "Keep laughing. I'm telling Teyla you were walking on that ankle."

Sheppard snorted, unrepentant. "Only to the jumper bay and that was to save Carson. She'll understand. Now, help me to my room before anyone else sees me."

Ronon rolled his eyes but pulled Sheppard to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist. The transporter was close by and they made it to Sheppard's quarters without any of the crew seeing them.

Sheppard grimaced at the black mud clinging to his shirt and pants when Ronon helped him hobble to the bed. "I need a shower."

Ronon tossed a clean t-shirt and sweatpants at his head. "You'll live."

"You okay?"

Ronon glanced down at his torn, muddy clothing. "Yeah." He plucked at the remnants of his tattered shirt. "This was my favorite."

"I'll get you a new one."

Ronon grinned and waved goodbye as he headed to the infirmary, not bothering to explain that the makers of that shirt had been culled to extinction three years ago. The cloth had been a special weave, soft and durable, and the stitching unparalleled. It couldn't be replaced, not in the true sense of the word but, like all things in Pegasus, something else would take its place.

When he reached the medical suite, he was scanned, poked and prodded until he threatened to rip the tech's arms off. Marie gave him a level stare, unmoved by his bluster. He suspected they had grown immune it. She handed him a bottle of cleanser and pointed him toward the shower, telling him not to come back until every speck of mud was gone.

He turned the water as hot as he could stand it then let it run over him until it ran clean. Then he let it run a little longer, bowing his head and sighing as it pounded his shoulders and back. No place he'd ever been had showers like Atlantis. While he enjoyed time off-world, when he came home, the first thing he wanted to do was shower. After being a runner, he never took cleanliness for granted.

Ronon stepped out, dried off, and pulled on the scrub bottoms someone had left for him. He padded back to the examination area where Marie was waiting. He climbed on the gurney now covered in fresh sheets and groaned as his back and shoulder protested.

Marie smiled as she rubbed a bitter-scented ointment on the lacerations on his back, arms and face. "The scans show a couple of deep bruises, but nothing is broken though I imagine you're going to hurt for a couple of days."

Ronon grunted. She had no idea. "How's the doc?"

"Doctor Biro is monitoring him. They don't want to do surgery unless absolutely necessary. The internal bleeding has stopped, and when he gets a little more stable, they'll set his leg." She put the ointment down and began to bandage the worst wounds. "The bruises on his chest…"

"Wasn't breathing when I found him." Ronon blinked heavy lids. "I told Cole that, didn't I?"

"She figured it out." Marie patted his arm and handed him a scrub top. "You're good to go. And by go, I mean to your quarters to rest." Before he could say anything, she held out a small sack. "Two pastrami sandwiches, an apple, and water."

"I love pastrami."

"I know. It's what you always ask for."

Ronon smiled a thank you and headed to the door. When she turned her back, he made a quick left toward the critical care area. He passed the attending doctor who rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, and pulled a chair next to Beckett's bed. The man was surrounded by beeping machines and snaking IV lines, and the mottled bruises on his face were in stark contrast to his pale skin, but he was breathing and that's all Ronon cared about. He settled into the chair and dug into one of the sandwiches.

"You should be in bed," Beckett whispered.

Ronon glanced up in surprise. "Thought you were asleep."

Beckett flinched as he shifted slightly. "You're a noisy eater."

"That's what Teyla says." Ronon took another bite and chewed with gusto. "Good sandwich."

Beckett looked at him through slitted lids. "The villagers?"

"Waiting for you to return if you want."

A ghost of a smile crossed Beckett's face. "Told you they weren't bad people."

Ronon shook his head. "Get some sleep, Doc."

"You, too, my friend." Beckett's eyes slid shut, and his breathing evened out in sleep.

Ronon finished his sandwich and rolled the bag closed, deciding a nap sounded like a good idea. He tucked the bag under his arm, gathered his few belongings not lost to the mud, and left. The transporter deposited him close to his quarters, and he stifled a yawn as he walked the last few meters to his door, almost bumping into Lorne.

"Oh, there you are."

"You need me for something?" Ronon asked.

Lorne grinned. "Heard you might have a few photos that needed to be uploaded to the network."

Ronon grinned in reply. He and Lorne were definitely going to be friends.

* * *

_Written for the sgahcchallenges Easter fic exchange. Thanks to everybetty for the beta. All faults mine_.


	30. Space Headache

**Space Headache**

"Weightlessness lost its charm three days ago, McKay. You were supposed to go get the cavalry and come right back." John pushed off the wall and did the backstroke down the hallway toward the station's command center. "You'd better not be dead. I'm going to be really pissed with you if you are."

He swiped at the door controls and floated through the command center to the environmental console. Oxygen still within normal parameters. Temperature a little cool for his taste but bearable. Next he confirmed power levels hadn't dropped any further. The tail of the comet that swiped the orbiting research facility had damaged the outlying sections causing a power relay to explode, and the resulting system overload blew the artificial gravity generator. A bulkhead slammed shut, separating John from McKay. Rodney cursed and ranted for three hours before admitting that he couldn't fix the damage without some specialized equipment from Atlantis.

Where the hell was McKay?

As far as John could tell, the bulkheads that had shut were to protect against a hull breach, but none of the sensors he could find showed a hull breach and he had been in contact with McKay as he'd made his way back to the dock and left in the jumper. Why hadn't he returned?

Three days had been plenty of time for John to explore the inner ring of the station. He'd found a few spartan living areas and a couple of labs in disrepair, but nothing that would help his current situation. He had a few PowerBars and a couple of MREs in his vest, but only one bottle of water.

He'd drunk the last of it that morning.

The headache had begun early the day before. At first, John chalked it up to not enough food or water, but what had started as a dull throb between his eyes suddenly exploded into a spike through the center of his head. What he really wanted was to lie down in a dark room to keep his brains from leaking out of his ears, but the damn weightlessness had other plans. He'd never had migraines before, and even now with his eyes threatening to pop out of his head, light and sound didn't bother him. He wasn't sure if the nausea was from the pain or the zero g environment.

John clawed his way out of the command center and back to the bulkhead that had trapped him here. He pushed to the floor, lay on his back, and propped his legs on the wall, wedging the heels of his boots underneath the door controls to hold himself down. Closing his eyes, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as his stomach rolled. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes when the headache ratcheted up another notch.

"Hurry, Rodney," John whispered.

"_Sheppard?_"

John flinched, yelping at the voice in his ear. He flailed and floated upward, swallowing against the rising bile.

"_Sheppard, are you there?_"

John pushed off the ceiling and angled for the door controls, clutching them for dear life. "McKay?"

"_Oh, thank God. I thought for sure you'd be dead by now_."

"I will be if you don't hurry up and get this damn door open. Where the hell have you been?"

"_I've got two teams working on it_." The door vibrated as something mechanical whirred and metal screeched. "_We've started cutting on the door, too, just in case_."

John let go of the controls and curled into a ball. "What took so long?" He turned his face away from the door when his stomach rolled again. Torched metal was not a pleasant odor.

"_Gate malfunction. You know, I leave Atlantis for a few hours and the whole place falls apart. If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times—_"

"McKay!" John snapped. "Focus."

"_Right. Sorry. The short version is someone, who shall soon be on the next ship back to Earth, accessed some files on an unsecured terminal and let a virus loose in the system_." McKay's sigh was loud and long. "_It took three days but I finally got the system clean and the gate back online. We got here as soon as we could_."

"Keller let you come?"

"_Um, I… Well, I didn't exactly ask. I had to come. To see._" McKay cleared his throat. "_I wasn't sure you'd be… That is, I thought that you might… We don't leave our people behind, you know."_

John smiled. "I've heard that." He couldn't hold in a moan in as he bumped into the wall. He rested his head against it.

"_Are you okay?_"

"Nothing a gallon of water and a bottle of aspirin won't cure."

"_Bit of a headache?_"

John huffed a laugh then groaned. "Words can't describe. I've gone without food and water for longer than this and never had my head hurt this bad before." He squinted at the door – two cuts made, two to go. "Ronon and Teyla?"

"_Covered in spots but recovering. Keller had to practically sedate them to keep them from coming_."

John covered his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, feeling like his head was splitting open. "How does the station look?"

"_Like someone filled it full of buckshot. Holes everywhere. But most of it seems superficial. Other than the generator overload, the damage is minimal_."

"No hull breaches?"

"_One in the cargo bay, but it's been sealed. I'm sure there's a way to open the door from the control room, but since I'm out here…_"

"Yeah, yeah." John braced his forehead and palms against the wall as the vise around his head squeezed tight. "You've got to get me out of here, Rodney."

"_I'm trying, John. I'd be working on the generator myself except I can't stop my hands from shaking. I think I had a few too many stimulants_." McKay's voice was ragged, hoarse. "_You've got to hang on a little longer. Can you do that?_"

"I can do that." John hoped he wasn't lying.

"_I got an email from Jeannie today. She said that Madison is feeling much better and they're sending a fresh batch of cookies. Assuming one of Caldwell's lackeys doesn't eat them all._"

"And I'm sure you're going to split them between Teyla and Ronon."

"_Why would I do that?_"

"Because you got them sick."

"_Me?_" McKay squeaked. "_I'm not sick_."

"So it's just a coincidence that you return from visiting your family, including your niece who has chicken pox, and two days later Teyla and Ronon come down with it?"

"_Yes_."

John snorted in derision. "You don't believe in coincidence, remember?"

"_Oh. Yeah, um… So you think I should— Hang on, Sheppard. Are you sure, Radek?_" After a long pause, McKay said, "_Sheppard, Radek thinks the generator is operational. You might want to get on the floor._"

John gripped a sconce and shoved himself down. "Ready."

"_Radek, go._"

Seconds later, the gravity kicked in. John's entire body slammed down, and sparks exploded behind his eyes. He cried out and rolled on his side, clutching his head. The next few minutes were a blur of voices and hands, and when John's vision cleared, he found himself in the rear of a jumper, headed home.

A med team whisked John to the infirmary where Keller gave him a thorough examination, fluids, pain meds, and a dark room with a soft bed. He was asleep before the door closed.

He awoke the next day to soft humming. When he stirred, thrilled to note his headache was gone, a spotted face with a warm smile and concerned eyes appeared over him.

"Hey, Teyla."

Her smile grew. "Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. You?"

"Much better as well. Doctor Keller says I am no longer contagious and the," she waved at her face, "spots should fade soon."

John fumbled with the bed controls until the head rose. "McKay and Ronon?"

Teyla laughed as she handed John a cup of water. "Once the stimulants left Rodney's system, he – I believe you call it 'crashed' hard. He is still asleep. Ronon is on his way. He said he had to get something first."

John slurped the water, relishing the feel of the cold liquid roll over his tongue and coat his throat. He promised to never take it for granted again. The door opened and Ronon strolled in, covered in spots and carrying something.

"Whatcha got?" John asked.

Ronon waggled his brows and extended the package – a plastic pink container filled with cookies.

"You stole McKay's cookies?"

Ronon plopped in a chair and pried the top off. "Yep. Want one?"

"Sure." John selected the biggest one in the box.

Teyla reached in and took two. Then took two more. "For each day I spent here."

Ronon crammed one in his mouth and stuffed three others in his pockets.

"You planning on leaving any for McKay?" John asked.

Ronon shoved in another cookie. "Nope."

John peeked in the box and grinned. "In that case, we're gonna need some milk."

* * *

_Unfortunately, this site won't let me include the link here so for more information on space headaches, search for it on the National Geographic website or PM me.__ Written for tridget. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine.  
_


	31. Beer and Pizza

**Beer and Pizza**

John leaned back against what was left of the rear compartment of the ship, his hands on his knees, and let his head droop forward. The tickle in his throat had blossomed into a vise squeezing his chest, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suck enough oxygen out of the thin air. He had no idea what the exact elevation was – who the hell knew what sea level was on this rock? – but experience told him it was at least seven thousand feet, maybe more. He'd preached hydration to every scientist and soldier on the mission, had drunk his own weight in water, but two days of hauling equipment three miles from the cavern that held the gate to the cliff where the Asgard ship had crashed had taken its toll. Having a cold sucked. Having a cold in high altitude really sucked.

"You okay, Sheppard?" Ronon, the bastard, wasn't even breathing hard.

John tilted his head up to stare at the blanket of gray that called itself a sky. "Nothing a beer and pizza won't cure."

Ronon snorted a laugh. "You look out of shape to me."

"You always say that." John closed his eyes and tried to breathe deep, but his heartbeat refused to slow down. "You might be right."

Ronon's brows lifted and his eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged and turned to stare at the towering mesas of shifting browns and reds that surrounded them. "Think you can convince McKay to hurry up and finish?"

"You got something better to do?

"Lorne said you have a new bunch of recruits coming." Ronon's mouth quirked up. "Thought I might introduce myself."

John's laugh turned into a cough. "I'm sure they'll appreciate that. I'll go check on McKay."

Without a second glance, Ronon headed up the hillside to the cave where they were storing supplies.

John was halfway inside the ship before he realized that Ronon had suggested he take a break. He'd had no idea Ronon knew how to do subtle. Chuckling, John wandered down to the engineering section, ducking under exposed wiring and around buckling walls. McKay had practically vibrated with excitement, and maybe a tiny bit of vengeance, when a MALP had picked up a weak Asgard energy signature. It took Lorne's team an entire day to locate the downed ship and to confirm no life signs. Since they had been confronted with the Asgard presence in Pegasus, McKay had been searching for them – their toxic homeworld, a base of operations, anything he could study in order to be better prepared should another attack come. John had agreed wholeheartedly. He certainly didn't want to be the subject of the next Asgard experiment.

He stumbled sideways and banged into a wall. Chagrined, he pushed upright and staggered forward to the next compartment where half a dozen of Rodney's minions were picking themselves up off the floor.

Relief that he wasn't suffering from vertigo turned to concern. "What happened?" John asked as he offered a hand to Doctor Kusinagi.

"I do not know. " She brushed hair from her eyes and winced, rubbing her elbow. "We were studying—"

"_Sheppard!_"

John pressed a hand to his ear. "What is it, Ronon?"

"_Rock slide. Looks like a couple of big ones slammed into the soft sand where the back end of the ship landed. You're starting to move._"

The floor rolled beneath his feet, much like the last time he'd visited Los Angeles. "Clear out! Everybody out of the ship, now!"

Scientists scrambled as the order went out on all channels. John hung back until the room emptied then began a sweep of all the habitable areas and a couple of iffy ones. Satisfied everyone was out, he made his way to the exit. The ship jarred again, then again, harder. Static hissed in his ear. He practically crawled to the outer doors and grimaced at the pebbles and sand flowing past. He didn't have much time.

John leaned out as far as he could. Right, he should go right. He had a better chance of getting clear of the ship before it plunged forward if he went to the right. Unless it spun right and ran over him. "Damn, John. When did you turn into McKay?"

He took as much of a deep breath as he could, and leaped. He landed, rolled to his feet, and sprinted toward the edge of the ship, throwing himself forward and feeling jagged metal scrape the bottom of his boot. He flopped on his back and watched the ship pick up speed then soar into the vast chasm.

And plummet.

John was sure the crash of the ship slamming into the mountainside must have echoed like thunder. But he couldn't hear it over the sound of his gasping for air. He rolled onto his side, clawing at the dirt as he tried to pull in enough oxygen to satisfy his lungs.

"_John…must…now_."

He wanted to answer Teyla, he really did, but his body had other ideas.

"_We need…go… Rock…injured_."

Injuries. Great. He pressed his forehead against the sand then staggered to his feet, dismayed at the rock still falling. The swath of ground the ship had been on was now a river of dirt and stone. Boulders tumbled past. People scurried near the cave entrance.

"On my way," John panted.

Someone from the group – Teyla, based on size and build – turned and waved at him. He returned the wave as he trudged upward, concentrating on breathing and not getting flattened by flying rocks. By the time he reached the top, he felt like he'd run a marathon, but his concern for himself vanished when he reached Teyla who was cradling her left arm and had a line of drying blood snaking down her face.

"You okay?"

Teyla gave a slight nod. "We were caught in the final slide that knocked the ship off the mountain." She cast her gaze around the group, most of whom sported bandages and wraps. "We need to get these people home so that Doctor Keller can fully assess their injuries."

John braced his arm on the cave entrance for support as his heart thrashed in his chest. "We'll send someone back for the equipment." He glanced around. "Where's Ronon?"

"Here." Ronon stepped out of the cave with a grimace. "Your face is purple."

"And your shoulder is dislocated. Again." Alarms bells were ringing in John's head, but his brain was too fuzzy to make sense of them.

Ronon shrugged his good shoulder. "Nothing a beer and pizza can't cure."

John would have laughed at the callback if he'd had the breath; instead he grinned and rolled his eyes. "I'll have Lorne take point." He paused to study the band of wounded, taking the opportunity to suck in some air, then wilted a little when Lorne's team passed by him, nodding as they hobbled out of the cave. Two of them had ankles wrapped and were leaning on each other. Another had an arm with a compound fracture strapped to his chest. Lorne had a bloody gash on his forehead and his right pant leg was in tatters. John turned to Ronon and Teyla. "Looks like we have a few people with leg injuries. You two help them down as best you can. I'll take the six…" Something wasn't right. "Does it seem quieter than usual to you?"

Teyla offered blister packs of Tylenol to Lorne's team. "Most people are preoccupied with their wounds."

John spun in a circle, fear piercing through his chest as he finally figured out the warning blaring in his head. "Where's McKay?"

Ronon whirled to duck back in the cave while Teyla did a head count. John took a step then another toward where the ship had been. He'd checked every habitable compartment; he knew he had.

"We are missing two," Teyla reported as she and Ronon approached. "Rodney and Doctor Zelenka."

Oh, God. How could he have missed them?

John stalked over to Doctor Kusinagi. "Have you seen McKay and Zelenka?"

Kusinagi shook her head. "They were investigating a section we couldn't identify. It was a small room outside the main entrance to engineering."

John nodded his thanks and stepped away, closing his eyes. He'd gone in that room, had noted the path that had been carved through the rubble to the console in the corner and the canteen of water sitting on a platform. John moved away to an isolated spot and pulled the life signs detector from his vest. Seven people in the cave. Fifteen more outside, including him. That left two unaccounted. He swallowed thickly and turned the scanner toward the cliff's edge, setting it to maximum.

Nothing.

He hadn't expected anything. Either they were dead or they were somewhere else on the mountain. John set his radio to McKay's private channel and toggled it on. "Rodney, do you read me?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing away the headache pounding behind his eyes while he waited for an answer. When he didn't get one, he switched to the main channel and tried again. "McKay, Zelenka, this is Sheppard. Please respond."

Every head in the camp swiveled his way. Ignoring them, he called again on the emergency channel and the science department channel. Rocks clattered past, and John lifted his eyes to the ridge above the cave. A boulder the size of a jumper wobbled unsteadily as smaller stones sluiced around it.

The rest of the mission team was in danger.

John walked toward the cave. "Time to go. Lorne, take point. When you—"

The LSD beeped.

Still set to maximum, it was registering two additional life signs on the edge of its range, near the summit which was at least another three thousand feet up.

"John, what is it?" Teyla asked.

"I found them, though how the hell they got up there," he waved upward, "is beyond me. I told them not to leave the crash site." John turned to Lorne. "Get these people home and send back a rescue team and medical help. Figure out a way to get them here in a jumper."

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied. "What about you?"

"I'm going after them."

"Not alone, you're not." Ronon moved to John's side. "I'm going with you."

"Normally, I wouldn't have it any other way, big guy, but you're hurt."

"I can still—"

John held up a hand. "And these people need your help. It's a long trek back to the gate, and we've got multiple injuries." He offered a wry grin. "I'll wrangle those two if you can get the other fifteen home."

Teyla's eyes were dark with worry. "Are you certain?"

"I've got two good arms and two good legs, which is more than any of the rest of you can say." John held her gaze. "All I know is that they're alive. They could be injured. They're definitely in danger if they're in the middle of that rock slide. I can't leave here without them."

She squeezed his arm. "Be safe."

Lorne nodded at him then rounded up his team and began to organize the injured into groups.

"You sure about this?" Ronon asked.

"I'm sure McKay had better have a damn good excuse for being on the top of this mountain." John would rip Rodney a new one after he was sure he was going to live. "Now, get these people home and send the cavalry."

Ronon helped a startled Kusinagi to her feet and guided her toward the group Lorne had assigned him. "Beer and pizza," he called.

"Beer and pizza," John agreed. "I like mine with extra cheese."

"And _vaksil_."

"No _vaksil_!" John hated those bitter purple berries that Ronon ate like candy. "You hear me?"

Ronon grinned and waved. John watched as they fumbled and tumbled their way toward the path some herd or gaggle or pride had packed down in the distant past. Then John turned and stared up at the boulder still swaying over his head. With a sigh, he started climbing.

He didn't get far before the coughing started, rumbling through his chest until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. A glance back at the group confirmed his initial assessment – none of them were in any shape to climb. The path they were on ended a few feet short of the crash site. The climb up would be precarious, requiring all four limbs. The tightness in his chest was inconsequential compared to leaving behind two people in unknown condition.

_Partially known_, he corrected himself. They were alive. Nothing else mattered.

John focused on the climb – a handhold here, a small ledge there. He huddled under an overhang as rocks tumbled past. Sometimes he had to crawl to get up a steep incline. He banged his knee and sliced his elbow. Sweat soaked his clothes. The cough became constant and his head felt like spikes were being driven in from all sides. But the dots on the LSD were like magnets, drawing him upward.

He stopped every five minutes to call McKay and Zelenka. About halfway up, he got a reply.

"_Sheppard? Oh, thank God_," McKay cried. "_I thought we were dead for sure this time_."

John rested his forehead on the rock he was clinging to. Later, he would give McKay an earful on getting separated from the group, but right now, he didn't have the breath to spare. "You okay?"

"_Well, if you call being stuck with Zelenka for two hours in a room with no doors or windows okay, then yeah_."

Ouch. Rodney's claustrophobia ought to be in high gear. He was lucky Zelenka hadn't killed him by now.

"How're you doing, Radek?"

"_I have been better, Colonel_." Zelenka sounded weary to the bone. "_I would like to go home now_."

"Working on it." John pulled out the LSD and checked his heading. "Be there in about an hour."

"_An hour_!" McKay exclaimed. "_Are you taking the scenic route_?"

"You're on the top of the damn mountain, Rodney." John hit mute and coughed until he thought a lung was coming up. He wiped the flecks of blood on his trousers, waited until most of the wheezing subsided, and turned the sound back on. "I'm doing the best I can."

All the bluster went out of McKay's voice. "_What's wrong_?"

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean you sound like a ninety year-old with emphysema. Where's Ronon_?"

"Headed to the gate. Injuries from a rock slide. I'll explain it all later."

"_What is wrong with you_?"

John sighed. McKay could be a pit bull sometimes, and this sounded like one of those times. "I'm not a doctor, Rodney, but if I had to guess, the altitude is messing with my lungs." He'd seen it several times during his climbs in Yosemite. His instructors – for free-climbing and for pilot training – had taught him the importance of acclimating to the elevation before physical exertion, but Rodney and Radek needed him. In the past, altitude hadn't bothered him, but he hadn't already been ill when he'd started, unlike now. He sneezed and moaned slightly when the pressure made his eyes feel like they were going to pop out.

"_Can you do this_?"

"I'll be fine."

"_Seriously, John, can you really do this? It's not like we're going anywhere_."

John ducked as another boulder rolled past. "Did I mention the rock slide?"

"_It hasn't stopped? That is so not good. You've got to get us out of here before… Wait a minute. You're climbing up here in the middle of a rock slide? Are you nuts_?"

"So I've been told."

John spotted the next handhold and began to crab his way up the face of the cliff. McKay jabbered constantly in his ear, with the occasional interjection by Zelenka, and after a while it became a bit of a lifeline. John tuned out the actual words – listening required concentration and he needed all he had to breathe – but he let the voices draw him upward. He pushed away the aching muscles, the too-tight chest, and the headache from hell, and just climbed.

When he reached a ledge big enough for him to stand on unaided, he gulped from his canteen and checked the LSD. They should be right above him. John bent over and coughed, grimacing at the bloody spray he left on the rock below. What had been a wheeze was now a loud crackle. He had rales. Great.

"_Sheppard? You still there_?"

"Still here, McKay." John swished water in his mouth and spat. He hated the taste of blood. "Just a few more minutes."

"_Oh, okay. I told Zelenka you were fine, but he was getting nervous_."

John grinned as he scrambled up the last few feet. While he would rather have his fingernails ripped off than admit it, having someone express concern over his well-being really touched him. Mom and Nancy had been the only people who fretted over him until his team. Teyla was more overt – if she was worried, she asked. While McKay would ask, he would deflect the worry onto someone else or make it all about him. Ronon rarely mentioned anything, but he would move closer and keep a hand free and ready.

One more fingertip grip later and John was pulling himself onto a plateau of sorts. The surface was big enough to land a jumper, but the cliff face extended up another couple hundred feet. However, what he was looking for was perched precariously in the corner of the plateau, and surrounded by boulders. When the small dome shook, it slipped an inch toward the precipice and rock rained down the mountain.

John struggled to his feet, chest heaving. "McKay?"

"_What? What is it_?"

"I'm here." John stumbled toward the cliff face and leaned against it, closing his eyes against the rising nausea. "You're in a dome-like structure that's covered in rock." He paused to cough and rinse his mouth out again. "Every time you move, the dome slides a little closer to the edge. I need you to be very still."

"_Still. I can—we can be still. Very still_."

Trailing a hand on the cliff face for support, John forced his legs to carry him to the dome. Smooth, flimsy metal, no obvious seams. What was it for?

"McKay, how did you get here?"

"_One minute Radek and I are working on that transporter, and the next, we're here_."

"Transporter?" John got as close as he dared, looking for the magic 'open' button. "What about 'Don't leave the crash site' was unclear?"

"_Yes, well, we weren't trying to leave_." McKay sounded annoyed, which meant he was blaming himself. "_We were trying to beam out a canteen of water to see if the thing worked_."

"_It definitely works_," muttered Zelenka.

"_Yes, it does_," McKay snapped. "_Because I'm here, and look! No water_."

John sank to his hands and knees, head bowed. "Any energy readings?"

"_Something very weak over… Hey! You're right outside. I can see you on the life signs detector_." The structure wobbled and sent more rock showering down the mountain.

"No moving!"

"_We didn't move, Colonel_," Radek said.

The dome was more unstable than he'd realized. How long did they have before it plummeted down? John drew in a shallow, ragged breath. "Where is the energy reading?"

"_Should be right in front of you_." McKay sounded subdued. "_We aren't going to make it, are we_?"

"Buck up, Rodney." John stared at the pile of rock. How the hell was he going to move all of it without sending himself, McKay and Zelenka over the edge? "Is it Asgard tech?"

"_Yes_."

Damn. Couldn't use his gene. John studied the mound, seeking which stone could be removed without disturbing the others. He'd always been good at Jenga. This wasn't too different, except the stakes were higher. Much higher.

He pulled out the first rock and silently exulted when the mound stayed solid. One by one, he removed the stones until he spotted a flashing light. He cleared the rock away from what appeared to be a control panel.

"Found something," John called. "Looks like the writing is Asgard."

"_What does it say_?" McKay asked.

"I don't know, Rodney. I can't read Asgard."

"_Would not make much difference_," Zelenka said. "_This language is very different than that of the Asgard we have met in the past_."

"_Ten thousand years apart might have something to do with that_."

"_I know that, Rodney. I am merely pointing out that even if Colonel Sheppard had learned Asgard, he most likely wouldn't be able to decipher what the panel says_."

John sighed. "Can one of you?"

"_If we could see it. Jeannie can snap a picture of Madison with her phone and I can see it in Pegasus, but you can't show me what's on the other side of this damn wall_."

"Have we tried?" John asked.

"_Tried what_?"

"Using the life signs detector to capture images."

"_Of course, we tried. Do you think I spend all that time in my lab playing video golf_?"

"Easy, Rodney. I was just asking. I'll order smart phones for everyone when we get back. But for now, how do I operate it?"

"_I have no idea_!"

"_What do you see, Colonel_?"

John wiped the panel, careful to not press anything. "A readout with Asgard characters in it."

"_Are they scrolling_?"

"No. There are three lights underneath it. One is kind of icy blue. The next is white, and the final one is flashing gold."

"_Describe the characters_," McKay said.

John did his best to describe the angular slashes of the pictogram before him. While McKay and Zelenka discussed the translation, John massaged his temples and sipped water. The dome shook slightly, sending rocks scattering.

John laid his hands on the stones around the panel. "No pacing, McKay."

"_I was not… Fine_," McKay huffed. "_We, uh, we think it says 'ready_.'"

"Ready? Ready for what?"

"_We don't know, Colonel_."

The dome trembled, the flimsy metal rippling under John's hands.

"_I think you should push the flashing button_," McKay said.

"Based on what?"

"_Instinct. You need to press the button_."

"And if you're in an incinerator?"

"_Oh, thanks for that lovely image_." When McKay spoke again, his tone was somber. "_Look, John, we can't stay here forever. I can feel the rocks shifting, and your breathing is getting worse. I doubt the Asgard went to all this trouble for a place to burn trash._"

"Then what's it for?"

"_I don't know. Maybe it's to transport prisoners or cargo. Maybe this is their idea of a time-out. With the ship destroyed, we'll probably never know_."

"Radek?"

"_I agree, Colonel. Push the button_."

Rock skittered past his boot, and the dome slid forward another inch, making the decision for him.

"Here goes nothing," John muttered, and pressed the button.

An Asgard-sized opening melted away from the front of the dome. John's left leg buckled, and he dropped gracelessly to the ground as Radek poked his head out and took a deep breath.

"Go!" McKay barked. "You aren't the only one who needs fresh air."

Zelenka stumbled over the carpet of jagged rock and away from the dome that swayed alarmingly. McKay followed quickly, hunching over to squeeze out of the exit.

"Wide open skies. Why do I spend so much time…" McKay trailed off as he caught sight of John. "Oh, my God."

John waved weakly, unable to draw enough breath to speak.

McKay searched his vest pockets as he hurried to John's side. "Voodoo isn't my specialty. I don't know what to do to help you."

"We need to get him to a lower elevation," Zelenka said. "You see the broken capillaries in his face and how blue his lips are? How he gurgles when he breathes? His lungs are filled with fluid. He cannot get enough oxygen."

The dome shifted again. John clutched at McKay's sleeve, pulling him away from the tumbling rock.

"Right. We need to get away from the dome of doom. Radek?"

John would have protested being carried if he hadn't been so damn tired. McKay and Zelenka picked him up and shuffled to the other end of the plateau, gently propping him against the cliff face since, as Radek pointed out, being upright made breathing easier.

McKay stepped to the edge and peered down. "You actually free-climbed this? You're crazier than I thought." He walked back and sat down at John's side. "How did you think we were going to get down? I can't climb that, and I'm not just saying that to be lazy. I've never been mountain climbing in my life. I wouldn't have the first idea how to go up much less go down, short of falling, and since I'm rather attached to living, I'm trying to avoid the falling part." He sighed and met John's eyes. "I can't carry you down."

"I know." John leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Told Lorne…to bring…a jumper."

"The stargate is in the back of a narrow cavern. How do you think he's going to fly out of there?"

John grinned. "Very carefully."

A low rumble shook the plateau as the rock surrounding the dome came loose. The dome teetered wildly then plunged down the mountain, bits of metal sheering off as it went.

"Did you see that?" McKay gasped. "I could have died in that thing. If you… if we…"

As the tightness in his chest grew, John let McKay's babble wash over him like a balm, grounding him. Lorne would figure out how to navigate that cavern because he was as adamant about not leaving people behind as John was. All John had to do was keep breathing until Lorne got there.

"Sheppard?"

John cracked his eyes open. "Stop…staring."

"Don't flatter yourself." McKay pulled out his computer tablet. "I was just making sure you weren't dead."

"Not dead yet," John whispered, blinking at the grayness surrounding him. He thought the sky was getting darker at first; then he realized it was his vision. He felt a solid presence settle on his other side and press fingers to his carotid.

"His pulse is weak, Rodney," Zelenka said.

McKay leaned into John's face. "You're not giving up, are you? I mean, you're the one who's always telling me to be positive. How's it going to look if you give up five minutes before Lorne – who's only slightly less crazy than you – comes barreling out of that cavern?"

John let his lids slide shut, unable to hold them open any longer. His breath came in shallow pants, and the elephant sitting on his chest kept growing.

"Come on, Sheppard." A hand lightly slapped his cheek. "Hang in there."

John clawed at the ground, struggling for breath.

"Help me get him up, Radek."

Hands grabbed his wrists and arms wrapped around his waist. A second later, John was on his feet, only his legs refused to work. He sagged between them, relieved to feel the pressure ease a little, and grinned when his radio came to life.

"_Colonel Sheppard, this is Lorne. We're locked on your position. There in three minutes_."

"This is McKay. Make it one minute, Major."

"And take care on your approach," Zelenka added. "The ground is unstable."

"_Copy that. Lorne out_."

John's skin prickled and his spine tingled as the Ancient tech neared. Wind gusted as a jumper with a dent in the nose and a long scratch down one side rose before them with Ronon hovering at the hatch entrance as it lowered. McKay and Zelenka dragged John toward the ramp, and Ronon met them at the bottom.

"Gonna have to eat that pizza by myself?" Ronon asked as he took Zelenka's place.

John shook his head weakly.

"Good." Ronon deposited him on a bench next to Keller. "Let's go!"

Keller pressed an oxygen mask to John's face as the hatch closed and the jumper banked right. The next few minutes were a blur of voices, hands, and the disorienting spin of wormhole travel. John floated on the edge of consciousness, sucking in blessed oxygen. By the time he was fully aware again, he was lying upright in the infirmary, hooked to oxygen and fluids and a boatload of machines.

John rolled his head to the right. A wall, bedrail, an IV in his arm. He flexed his fingers, frowning at the blue tint to his nails. He looked left and spotted the pulse oximeter. Ninety percent oxygen saturation – much lower than his usual ninety-nine percent. At least the elephant had been downgraded to a hippo.

"Feeling better?" McKay was standing at the end of the bed, arms folded over his chest, eyes pinched tight. "You're a little closer to lavender than the violet color you were when we got here."

John drew in a deep breath, coughed, and inhaled again. "Much better."

"Jennifer says your body will absorb the fluids after a few days of rest and oxygen." McKay drew a chair near and sat down. "Look, about what happened on the planet…"

"Which part?"

"The part where you almost died coming after me and Radek."

"Oh, that part. Not your fault, McKay."

"I know that." McKay pushed out of the chair and paced at the foot of John's bed. "We didn't mean to transport ourselves to the top of the mountain or to disturb the rock and cause a rock slide, and we certainly had no way of knowing that your mild case of bronchitis would turn into high altitude pulmonary edema when you came for us. Of course it's not our fault. Why would anyone think—"

"Rodney."

"Yes, sorry. Anyway, we didn't mean for any of that to happen, but it did." The flush started at McKay's neck and flooded upward. "And I'm sorry that it happened, that you… you know." McKay met his eyes. "I'm really sorry, John."

"Apology accepted." John picked up the cup of water from his nightstand and took a sip. "Now, did you get anything useful from that ship?"

Relief flitted over McKay's face as he plopped in his chair. "Still working on it. Kusinagi thinks she has a lead on how they penetrated our shield."

"So, the mission wasn't a total loss." John's mouth began to water when the aroma of hot pizza wafted his way. "Get in here, Ronon."

Ronon strolled in, carrying a pizza in each hand, and Teyla followed with a casted arm filled of drinks, plates, and napkins. Ronon put the food on a rolling tray table while McKay pulled two more chairs over and Teyla handed out drinks.

John wrinkled his nose. "Sprite?"

"Keller said no sedatives for you for a while," Ronon said. "That includes beer."

"What about me?" McKay asked.

"No one is having beer." Teyla handed him a root beer. "Except for this kind."

John smirked at Rodney and reached for a piece of pizza. "_Vaksil_? I distinctly remember saying no _vaksil_."

Ronon snatched the pizza from him and gave him a slice from the other pie, one with pepperoni, black olives and lots and lots of cheese. John took a big bite, seeing how far the cheese would string before it broke. McKay rolled his eyes then tried the same thing. Teyla won. Ronon layered two slices together and stuffed half in his mouth.

"You gonna be okay?" Ronon asked between bites.

John grinned. "Nothing a pizza with my team won't cure."

* * *

_Written for stellapegasi for the sgahcchallenges fic exchange. Many thanks to kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine._


	32. Whole Again

_Warning: Dark._

**Whole Again**

To cross paths with a terex was the hope of every Athosian. Swift and surefooted, the animal could look a man in the eye, had antlers that could shred skin from bone, and was as strong as it was graceful. Teyla had first seen one up close on the seventh day of Puvelosh, the rite of passage that would finally pronounce her an adult, when the sleek blur of brown and black had leaped over her during dinner preparations. Halling gasped, wide-eyed, and pronounced her blessed. Teyla barely noticed, staring into the forest after the most wonderful creature she'd ever seen and wishing with all of her ten-year-old heart that she could run like that.

Two years passed before her next encounter. While terex meat was a delicacy on at least thirty-seven worlds, her people hunted them only out of necessity and gave honor to the animal's sacrifice by not wasting any bit of it. But to cage one as an exhibit at a market, to rob an animal as regal as a terex of its freedom by locking it a tiny room made of bars, was obscene. She threw herself at the cage, kicking and screaming, trying to pull the bars far enough apart for the animal to escape, but the rods of iron were too much for her arms to defeat. The terex regarded her with dull eyes and did not join her fight. Her father had to bodily remove her from the Lagerian market, whispering words of comfort and pride as he carried her, sobbing, to the ring of the Ancestors and home.

Teyla learned two valuable lessons that day: 1) patience and stealth can be more valuable than strength, and 2) cages can break even the most spirited creature.

As outraged as she'd been that day, it paled in comparison to the molten lava blasting through her at this moment. Her stomach clenched and rolled, and she had to swallow several times to keep the bile at bay. She bowed her head and took a deep breath, searching for the calm she needed to slip silently through the thick underbrush of the forest to the clearing below. She'd searched too far and for too long to act foolishly now.

Teyla glanced toward the darkening sky. Soon. The steady stream of patrons heading to the Ancestral ring had slowed to a trickle, leaving a handful still gawking at the traveling zoo. For fourteen weeks, she'd scoured the galaxy for scraps of information about the _lorqel_ who trafficked in humans. She'd followed every lead no matter how ridiculous, sometimes arriving less than an hour after they'd moved on to a new location.

She squinted at the cages glinting in the firelight. The closest one was covered in filth, its fetid smell burning her nostrils. Bits of rotten fruit tossed by the patrons dribbled down the bars. The occupant, too haggard to determine gender, lay curled in the center of the cage, unmoving, the only indication of life a slight twitch of the shoulders when another piece of fruit slapped flesh.

"I will send someone for you," Teyla whispered, "and the full wrath of my people will be brought on this place. No one will suffer such indignity at the hands of these _lorqel_ again. I swear it."

The dark form made no response.

As twilight deepened to evening, Teyla closed her eyes and centered herself, focusing her white-hot rage to a pinpoint at her core that electrified her nerves and heightened her senses. She moved with the wind, allowing the rustle of leaves and chirping of insects to mask her steps as she crept into the make-shift bazaar. Ragged tents flapped in the slight breeze that carried the stench of unwashed bodies and human waste.

When Halling had brought her the rumor of a group who put humans on display, she had laughed at the sheer lunacy of the idea. Who would want to stare at a person in a cage? But the rumors persisted and people went missing from every world with which she was acquainted.

Then her team had been attacked.

She tiptoed past cage after cage, seeking one specific face. Haunted eyes followed her, but no one raised an alarm. A woman in a tattered robe lay in a heap, weeping quietly. A teenage boy sat against the far side of his cage, slowly banging his head against the bars. A small man rocked in a corner to a song only he could hear. Each person had cuts and bruises in various stages of healing.

Even seeing it, Teyla still couldn't comprehend it – the callousness, the depravity. She wanted to scream as she had that day in the Langerian market, to demand to know how someone could treat another human being in such a way. Why?

But she swallowed the questions and continued forward, knowing there was no answer. She had called the Wraith evil once. She might owe them an apology.

A sob caught in her throat when she finally spotted what she had been seeking, the form so familiar to her that no amount of injuries or chains could disguise it. Shackled to the front set of bars, he was in easy reach of anyone's hands, and from the bruises and scratches covering his body, untold numbers had.

Teyla moved with the shadows until she stood in front of him. He tensed but didn't raise his head.

"Ronon?"

He flinched at her whisper and his shoulders sagged. She reached through the bars to tilt his chin upward, and bit back a curse when he didn't resist. His dreads had been chopped away from his face, probably taken as souvenirs, leaving scraggly tufts of hair among scabbed-over cuts. The collar around his neck dug into his flesh and his hands had been bound to the bars, fingers wrapped together.

Teyla cupped his face in her hands. "Ronon, can you hear me?"

He lifted his eyes – flat, lifeless eyes. Gone was the sparkle of humor that had always danced there. The fire that had driven him for so long was also missing. He looked at her with no hint of recognition.

"Please, Ronon." She stroked his shorn head like she did Torren's after he awoke screaming from a nightmare. "Do you not know me?"

He blinked languidly. "Teyla," he said, his voice raspy from disuse.

"Yes, Ronon, it's Teyla. I have come to take you home."

"You always say that." Ronon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the bars. "Then I wake up."

Teyla gripped his face. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Ronon obeyed instantly.

"This is not a dream. I am here."

He didn't seem convinced. Teyla released him and pulled her canteen from her belt, dribbling a little in her palm and wiping the bits of rotting fruit from his face. He didn't react, not even when she held the canteen to his lips. Water spilled through his beard and down his chin, carving rivulets in the filth covering his chest.

"Oh, Ronon." The sob broke through this time, and she let the tears course down her cheeks unhindered. "I should have been with you. I should have—"

"No!" Ronon's eyes sparked. "No. What they do to the women here… " The spark died as someone stirred nearby and voices from the main tent carried toward them. "Go, before they find you."

When Teyla reached for him, his breath hitched and his eyes flickered up to meet hers then dropped immediately. Wondering when he had last been touched in kindness, she pulled his head gently against the bars then stretched until her forehead met his. "I will not leave without you," she whispered, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "I _cannot_. My life is knitted with yours."

Ronon shook so hard his chains rattled, and a low moan sounded deep in his throat. "They're dead. I saw them… McKay, Sheppard. I tried…"

She pressed her fingers to his lips. "They are not dead. Their wounds were grave, but they survived."

"You're sure?"

Teyla unrolled a selection of knives from a pouch on her belt. She sliced the wraps on his fingers then turned her attention to the shackles on his wrists. One cuff fell away. When he didn't accept the knife she offered, she unlocked the other then worked on the master lock for the chains that clamped his body to the bars.

"John's internal injuries have healed, but his leg will remain in a cast for another month. Rodney was sent to Earth for a special treatment for his burns. He is scheduled to return on the Daedalus in a day or two." The lock snapped open and the chains rattled to the ground. "Seeing you will speed their recovery." Teyla quickly picked the lock on the cage and eased the door open. "Are you ready to go home?"

Ronon's breath came in ragged gasps. "Home?"

Teyla clutched his hands, ignoring the filth and his long, jagged fingernails, and pulled him toward to the forest. "Come. We cannot risk rousing the _lorqel_ who run this place. We must get to Atlantis and bring back assistance." She glanced at him – no shirt, no shoes, soiled trousers shredded to little more than strings. "Can you make it?"

He looked down at his chest where bruises peeked out under layers of dirt, mucus, blood and rotten fruit. Infected sores from blisters and insect bites dotted his legs and feet. He lifted vacant eyes to hers before glancing over his shoulder at his cage, as if considering going back inside.

Her hatred for the vile creatures, too cruel to be labeled humans, doubled then doubled again. How many beatings had he taken? How many people had he seen tortured while he was lashed to the bars, unable to help? How many humiliations had he suffered under the gawking gaze or at the hand of strangers? Was it a single act that broke his spirit or the culmination of three and a half months of abuse plus the guilt and grief of thinking John and Rodney dead?

Pushing back the rage, Teyla smiled gently and slid her hand in his. Ronon stared down at their hands then slowly curled his fingers, enveloping her palm. She held her finger to her lips and moved toward the forest's edge. When he followed her so silently she had to squeeze his hand to make sure he was still there, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not all of his personality had been subdued. They had brought him back from Wraith brainwashing; they could bring him back from this.

The trek to the gate was quick and uneventful. Teyla dialed Atlantis and whispered quick instructions before grasping Ronon's hand and leading him home. As she had requested, the gate room was empty except for Major Lorne who waited, unarmed, near the base of the stairs. She felt the tremor run through Ronon and glanced up at Operations to see only Mr. Woolsey gazing down at them.

Evan approached slowly, hands dangling at his sides. "Welcome home." He nodded at Ronon then arched a brow at Teyla.

"The camp is approximately two kilometers from the stargate, at a thirty degree right angle," she reported. "Night has fallen. I saw nothing that would indicate they were preparing to leave. I would estimate they have twenty captives—"

"Twenty-seven," Ronon said, his head bowed low. "Eight guards."

Evan's face whitened and his lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze flicked over Ronon. "We'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Major. I have no doubts that you will." And Teyla didn't. John's people had been as outraged as she over the attack and Ronon's capture. From the look on Evan's face and the stiffness in his spine as he headed to the mission ready room, the guards would be lucky to survive.

Teyla breathed deeply and put on her best smile as she turned to Ronon. "Doctor Keller needs to examine you. Will you agree to that?"

He nodded, not meeting her eyes, and followed her docilely down the empty corridors to the infirmary where Jennifer was waiting in a curtained area, a cart of equipment and medicines at her side.

"Hello, Ronon," Jennifer said. "It's good to have you back." She patted the bed. "Can you hop up here for me?"

He complied without a word, folding his hands in his lap and keeping his eyes lowered. Jennifer looked at Teyla, her eyes wide with dismay, then schooled her features and turned to Ronon, explaining quietly what she was doing as she examined him.

Knowing they would need privacy to complete the exam, and needing to leave before she completely lost control, Teyla turned to go but stopped at Ronon's sharp inhale. His eyes were locked on her and filled with apprehension.

"I will return once Jennifer has finished her examination." Teyla stepped to his side, placing a shaking hand on his shoulder. "You are safe here. No one will harm you."

Ronon bobbed his head once and his gaze returned to the floor.

Teyla moved casually to the door and waited for it to close before she ran blindly down the hallway. The rage she had been smothering boiled over, setting her nerves on fire. Her heart slammed against her ribcage until she feared it would beat a hole through the bone. She skidded into the gym, grabbed a pair of bantos rods, and charged the practice dummy with a cry, no thought to form or control as she beat, sliced, and whipped at it. When she broke a stick separating the dummy's head from its shoulders, she flung the wood to the ground then kicked and punched at the training form until it lay in pieces around her. She slumped to her knees, choking on sobs.

"You know, I usually put Ronon on scientist babysitting duty when he destroys one of those."

Teyla wiped her face with the back of her hand and scooted to sit with her back against the wall, too spent to do anything else. "How long have you been here?"

John hobbled in, set his crutches down and sat, pulling his casted leg onto the bench. "Long enough."

"Have you seen him?"

The scar from the shrapnel that had almost severed John's carotid flamed a brilliant red. "Just for a minute. Keller was getting him to the shower." John ground his jaw. "He wouldn't look at me."

Teyla rested her head back. "If there were not innocents there, I would have signaled the Wraith and disabled the gate." She closed her eyes, seeking the calm that had eluded her since Ronon's capture. Meditation was still beyond her, but the desperation was gone. "How is your leg?"

"Healing but not healed, according to the scans." John shrugged. "Whatever magic they did seems to be working. Slowly."

Teyla met his eyes and smiled, knowing that although he'd never acknowledge exactly how close he'd come to dying, he was well aware of how fortunate he was to be breathing and to have both legs. When the rescue team had first brought him home, Jennifer had little hope of saving _him_, much less a leg that had been crushed. But superior medical skills and Ancestor technology had put John and Rodney back together. Again.

"Good thing Torren had a bellyache that day," John announced as he climbed slowly to his feet, "or Ronon would still be missing. And probably you as well."

"You would never stop looking."

"Not ever." His gaze was intense, piercing through her, and then a crooked grin appeared. "But I'm glad I don't have to." John moved toward the door. "You coming?"

Not willing to let Ronon see her so rattled, she shook her head. "I will be there shortly."

After he left, Teyla straightened the mess she had made, making a mental note to replace the bantos rod and to apologize to Sergeant Rimmer for destroying gym property. She hurried to her quarters for a shower, pondering how to undo the damage to Ronon's spirit.

What words would reach him? As she toweled off and donned a soft, flowing dress from fabric Ronon had given her, Teyla considered and discarded arguments about being a team, fighting the Wraith, uniting the galaxy, avenging Sateda. What would break through the mental fog that the abuse and humiliation and guilt had caused?

She sat down heavily. Perhaps this was his way of punishing himself. No, not entirely. Maybe he hadn't fought as hard as he could have at first, but once he saw the treatment the other captives were getting, he would have done everything possible to help them. But by then, it was too late. He was chained, caged, an animal to be viewed and abused by the masses.

Teyla stood, grabbed a bag and hurried to Ronon's room to pick up a few of his belongings. When she reached the infirmary, she found Ronon in a private room, hooked up to several IVs and sound asleep. John was leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with Jennifer. As Teyla neared them, she heard words like infection, malnourished, electrolyte imbalance, and organ damage.

Keeping an ear to their conversation, Teyla drew a chair to Ronon's bedside and sat down, sliding her right hand in his and placing her left on top. His skin had been scrubbed so clean that the scabs had been ripped off, the wounds covered by light layers of gauze that did little to mask the bitter scent of antibiotic cream. She pulled out the hygiene items from the bag she'd brought and set to work, first trimming Ronon's fingernails to their normal short length then snipping off the scraggly remains of his dreadlocks.

"Lorne radioed earlier." John hobbled to a sofa someone had set between Ronon's bed and the wall, easing himself down with a sigh. "Bad guys have been taken care of. They're bringing back nineteen of the captives."

Teyla glanced at him in alarm. "Nineteen? Ronon said—"

"Yeah. Lorne only found nineteen still alive." The muscle in John's jaw jumped. "Bastards."

"And the guards?"

"Four survived the raid. We'll be hosting them until the coalition council is ready to begin the trial. What are you doing?"

"Something to help him feel normal again." She would let Ronon take care of grooming his beard when he was ready, deciding it would be a sign of him coming out of his shell. "This lotion is a mixture of herbs and spices from Sateda. Ronon makes it himself."

Teyla poured some in her palm then ran her hands over Ronon's scalp, gently massaging in the woodsy-scented cream that she associated with him. He always claimed it could heal anything so she spread it over his face and throat and down his arms, rubbing it into the contusions on his wrists and the burns on his fingertips.

Ronon's fingers twitched in hers then his entire body jerked as his face twisted in pain. He shuddered then sucked in a shaky breath and stilled. After a minute, Teyla started again while a soft snore told her John had drifted off to sleep. Teyla packed away the hygiene items and when she turned around, Ronon was awake and staring at John.

Teyla clasped Ronon's hand and perched on his bed. "How are you feeling?"

Ronon's eyes flicked to her then back to John. "I don't know. Tired."

Teyla studied his face for a minute then said, "You are not to blame for what happened to John and Rodney."

"I knew something was wrong. Our guide was too jumpy."

"You are not to blame."

Ronon closed his eyes. "If I had—"

"You are not to blame." Teyla gripped his hand tighter. "None of you knew the Hrinath were storing explosives in that building. It is a miracle that any of you survived."

Ronon opened his eyes to stare at John again. "When I saw that fire…"

"I know." Teyla avoided looking at the burn scars on his hands. "John was shielded from the flames, but Rodney…" She shuddered as the memory returned. "However, the medical technology acquired by the SGC can –"

"Oh, my God. What the hell happened to your hair?"

Ronon's hand tightened into an iron fist as Rodney's voice broke the quiet. Teyla whirled toward the door.

"Rodney!"

"McKay!" John struggled upright. "Did you convince Caldwell to let you soup up the engines or something?" His eyes darted over the smooth, pink skin of Rodney's face, arms, and fully functioning hands. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"Well, these super genius people called the Ancients made some stone rings we like to call stargates. Maybe you've heard of them?" Rodney's grin was wide as he shook John's hand. "I had Caldwell drop me off on the first habitable planet with a gate."

Teyla pressed her forehead to Rodney's then drew him into an embrace. "Welcome home, Rodney."

Rodney flushed as he stepped back. "Thanks." He turned to look at Ronon. "Seriously, what happened to your hair?"

Emotion flickered on Ronon's face as his gaze shifted between the three of them before landing on Rodney. Then a hint of humor glinted in his eyes. "Decided I wanted to try your hairstyle for a while."

Rodney rubbed a self-conscious hand over the slowly growing stubble on his head before winking at Ronon and looking at John. "Guess you're next, Sheppard."

John lifted a crutch and poked Rodney in the chest. "Don't even think about touching my hair."

Teyla hid a smile as she resumed her seat and slipped her hand into Ronon's. John and Rodney settled on the sofa, the continued sniping washing over her like a balm. The recovery for all of them would be long and difficult, but for the first time in almost four months, she felt calm. At peace.

Whole.

* * *

Written for the hcbingo prompt cages. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta.


	33. Rodney's Birthdays

**Four Times Rodney Didn't Celebrate His Birthday and One Time He Did**

**One**

For nine months, eight year-old Meredith had watched his usually logical mother devolve into an absent-minded _female_ who giggled at inappropriate times and cried for absolutely no reason whatsoever. His father had rolled his eyes and intoned, "Hormones," but Meredith knew better. It was that baby. When his parents had announced that he was going to have a sibling, he'd read every book he could get his hands on that dealt with pregnancy. Horrified at most of it, he swore off girls, sex, and most importantly _children_.

Why his parents thought they needed another child was beyond him. He'd done everything they'd asked of him, had excelled at it, but obviously they didn't think it was enough because there was going to be a crying, smelly baby in his space – the next door neighbor had brought a new one home every year for the past five years and _ewww_ – and if he'd calculated correctly, the usurper was going to arrive sometime in early spring.

_His_ birthday was in early spring. It was the one day that his parents paid special attention to him. He got to pick his favorite meal (spaghetti with extra meatballs) and cake (devil's food with fudge icing) and to select one (very expensive) item from his father's catalog of scientific equipment. He'd been waiting all year for a spectrometer. He'd marked the page in the catalog and left it in a prominent place on his father's desk, where it had lain for weeks without being touched.

His mother was admitted to the hospital five days before his ninth birthday. Two days later, Jeannie arrived.

Meredith never got a spectrometer.

**Two**

After the incident with the CIA over his grade six science fair exhibit, the educators at his school had a chat with his parents. Four years later, M. Rodney McKay graduated from high school and was shipped immediately to the University of Toronto where he was surrounded by serious scientists and intellectuals.

He hated it.

U of T had been his father's choice. No surprise since it was considered the top university in Canada (since he was still on the CIA's watch list, Northeastern and all other US schools weren't an option yet) and Rodney was expected to be the best. As an added bonus, he would be over three thousand kilometers from his family. While that was a bit of a relief, he was stuck in a big city with no family, no friends, and no car. Gawky and acne-prone, he holed up in his dorm room and studied, letting the world go by without him.

He spent his eighteenth birthday in a science lab, measuring gamma rays with the university's spectrometer.

**Three**

He'd been banished to hell. Well, Russia, but same difference. It should have reminded him of home, but it didn't. He didn't speak the language, the food tasted funny, and requisitions took three times as long to receive and were a fraction of the quality he needed.

The other scientists – and he used that term loosely – didn't try to hide their disappointment that they got him instead of Major Carter. The feeling was mutual.

"You…there." Rodney snapped his fingers at the passing flunky. "Hilda, Helga, Heidi."

The petite, dark-haired woman stopped and slowly rotated, stabbing him with an icy glare. "My name is Halina," she said, "as I have told you repeatedly, Doctor."

"Whatever. Where are the latest readings? How do you people think I'm going to help you construct a naquadah generator if I don't have the data in a timely manner?"

"We _people_ think you should check your email more often." She whirled and stalked away.

"Email? I wanted a hard copy!"

But she had disappeared around the corner with a flutter of her lab coat. Rodney heaved a sigh and stomped back to his computer. He'd been avoiding email all day. Stupid, really, but he knew what he would find there: tersely worded messages from co-workers who didn't like him.

Nothing else except for the unfinished draft of a birthday greeting to his sister. Expressing himself had never been a strong suit and after the debacle of his last trip home, he had no idea what to say to her. She was throwing her life away, but she couldn't see it no matter how many times he said it. The slam of the door still rang in his ears.

Rodney clicked on his email, trying to avoid the draft folder, but his eyes were drawn to it like the wreck that it was. "Happy Birthday" hadn't seemed like enough. He'd tried for humor, but even he could tell it fell flat. He'd written and rewritten, and yet nothing sounded right. Then he'd gotten wrapped up in the latest test and spent two days arguing over an equation with the project's chief scientist. When he finally remembered, it was too late. Her birthday had come and gone.

With a sigh, he deleted the email from the draft folder and opened the analysis Halda had sent him. Rodney spent his thirty-fourth birthday ignoring a personal email folder that stayed empty.

**Four**

Rodney stumbled to a stop, clutching his middle as his insides knotted and spasmed, pain radiating from his core to his extremities. _Come to the market with me. It will be fun. I hear there might be Ancestor technology._ When was he going to learn?

"We are already late, Rodney," Teyla said. "The gate is not far ahead. John and Aiden are expecting..." She glanced back at him and gasped. "What is wrong?"

He slumped to his knees with a groan. "I can't." He clenched his eyes shut against the pain, ignoring the tears that dripped down his cheeks, then doubled over, one hand around his stomach and the other braced against the ground. "Whatever was in that drink…" His elbow gave out and his forehead smacked the red clay path. "I was thirsty and the guy offered." What he intended as a laugh came out as a moan. "I don't even really like milk."

Teyla knelt in front of him, her hands pulling him upright until he was squinting into her horror-filled eyes. "You ingested _vohrnak_? A milky white liquid?"

He nodded miserably.

"Oh, Rodney," Teyla sighed, wiping away the sweat that was stinging his eyes. "_Vohrnak_ is a…recreational drug of the Itoorians."

He breathed through the next spasm. "He drugged me? Why?"

"Perhaps to steal your belongings; perhaps out of cruelty." Teyla helped him to his feet and pulled his arm over her shoulders, wrapping an arm around his waist. "If _vohrnak_ is not properly prepared, it can act as a poison."

Rodney staggered down the path, trying to make sense of what she was saying. "I've been poisoned?"

"If you are in pain, yes." She grabbed his belt and hoisted him higher. "How much did you drink?"

"All of it," he mumbled. "I was really thirsty."

Teyla tugged at the small bag she had purchased at the market until it slid from her shoulder to her elbow. "Why did you not say something before now?"

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. "I don't know. That's not like me, is it? Oh, God, I have brain damage." Left, no, right foot. Left foot. "That's worse than dying."

At the merchant's table, his hand had brushed over something that made his skin tingle. Ancient tech, just like she'd said. He'd been so absorbed with finding it that he'd forgotten where he was. The man had offered the glass, and Rodney had downed it without thinking.

"Don't tell Sheppard."

Teyla's grip tightened as they reached the gate. "I believe Major Sheppard will notice that you are ill when we arrive."

"No, I mean about me not asking you about it first."

"It was an accident," Teyla soothed. "Any of us could have done it." She propped him against the DHD and paused, breathing heavily. "Try to not do it again."

Rodney clung to the DHD, praying his knees wouldn't give out. "Never, for the rest of my life, as short as that will be."

Teyla dialed, inputted her IDC, and slung Rodney's arm over her shoulders again. "You are not going to die anytime soon. I refuse to allow it, especially today."

"Refuse to allow…" Rodney stumbled toward the shimmering blue that represented the city that was beginning to feel like a real home. "I don't think you can… Wait, why especially today?"

Teyla smiled and dragged him through the gate.

Half the expedition was waiting for them. _Happy Birthday!_ reverberated through the gateroom.

Rodney promptly passed out.

**Five**

"Come on, McKay. You've avoided celebrating your birthday every year since we got here." Sheppard spun on the lab stool next to him. "I'm not letting you miss this one."

"I'm busy," Rodney growled. "Go bother someone else."

"Can't. It's not anyone else's birthday. I checked." Sheppard nudged him with an elbow. "Chef made your favorite."

Rodney's mouth watered involuntarily. Sergeant Ray made the best spaghetti he'd ever had. He cut his eyes toward Sheppard, irritated to see his trademark smirk grow wider. "You know how I feel about birthdays."

Sheppard snorted. "I know what you _say _you feel about birthdays. I don't believe it for a second. Who doesn't like birthdays? There are presents and cake."

"Says the man whose childhood birthday parties had Evel Knievel as entertainment."

"Yeah." Sheppard leaned back with a dreamy smile. "Best birthday ever."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You got Evel Knievel. I got a baby sister."

"Sounds fair."

"You suck. Have I ever mentioned that?"

"Frequently." Sheppard looked completely unrepentant. "Doesn't change the fact that you're going to this party."

Rodney turned to face him and folded his arms over his chest. "Why should I?"

"Because it's for you." The humor faded from Sheppard's face. "Because we need a party, a morale boost. It's been a hard year and people need to let loose a little."

Rodney couldn't argue with that. They'd found Carson, sort of, only to have to ship him to Earth. Rodney had delivered Teyla's baby shortly after a building imploded while he was in it and then he'd almost turned into a hive ship. Well, he'd been pre-symptomatic, but still, the point was he could have turned into a hive ship. On top of that, Carter had been replaced by Woolsey. Bureaucrats were the scourge of humanity.

"Will there be alcohol at this party?"

Sheppard grinned. "Teyla donated her last bottle of Ruus wine, Zelenka made a new batch of moonshine, and Ronon managed to locate some of that Blevin ale he's been going on about." Sheppard leaned forward to whisper, "Did I mention cake?"

Rodney fought the urge to drool. "What kind?"

"Devil's food with fudge icing, of course." Sheppard waggled his brows. "And if you don't come, you won't get your presents."

Something strange stirred in Rodney's chest. "Presents for me?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "It's no one else's birthday, remember?"

"Yes, well, of course." Rodney felt his cheeks flame and turned away, hoping Sheppard wouldn't notice. How could a guy like Sheppard possibly understand how rare and wonderful it was for people to voluntarily get Rodney a gift? He'd always downplayed birthdays, telling himself that it was just another day in another year, because it was easier to ignore than to celebrate alone. He glanced over at Sheppard who was quietly watching him. "So, uh," he cleared his throat, "what did you get me?"

"You're going to have to come to the party to find out," Sheppard answered with a grin. "I'm looking forward to seeing what's in that big box your sister sent."

"Jeannie sent something?"

"Yep. Though I think Madison must have helped wrap it."

"I don't know. Jeannie has rather unique gift-wrapping skills." Rodney did a quick mental calculation. "The Daedalus left a month ago. You've had it all this time and didn't tell me?"

"Actually I had Ronon keep it. You don't barge into his quarters like you do everyone else." Sheppard looked at his watch. "Did she like that painting thing you got her on M4T-084?"

"I think she was more enamored with the properties of the paint they used than the art itself. She said she's been running tests on the paint chips I enclosed."

"Good. That's good. Can we go now?" Sheppard's mouth twitched, in that I'm-about-to-embarrass-you way.

"What?" Rodney demanded.

"What what?"

"What have you done that I'm going to kill you for later?"

Sheppard snorted. "You and what army?"

"My army of highly educated scientists who can turn you back into a bug."

"That's low."

Rodney arched a brow. "Then spill it."

Sheppard stared at the ceiling for a minute then sighed. "Okay, but it wasn't my idea." He glanced over his shoulder at the door, scanning the empty room. "There are candles."

"How many?"

"How many do you think?"

"You didn't."

"Do you know how hard it is to find forty candles? We had to use a few of Teyla's meditation candles. It's a damn fire hazard. Oh, and Teyla's leading the singing."

Rodney shrank into his chair. "Singing?" he asked faintly.

"You know how much she loves parties." Sheppard grimaced slightly. "Ronon's in charge of games."

"No, absolutely not."

"I told him that he couldn't force us, I mean, _you_ to participate."

"I'm not going."

Sheppard checked his watch again and hopped to his feet. "Oh, yes, you are." He grabbed Rodney's arm. "If it makes you feel any better, Ronon says you're twenty-one according to the Old Satedan calendar."

Rodney let himself be dragged out of his chair. "What does that make him, twelve?"

"Something like that."

They took the transporter to the mess hall level where voices buzzed, occasionally punctuated by a shout of laughter and underlined with faint chords of music. The tang of spaghetti sauce combined with the sugary scent of icing to send Rodney's senses into overload. Maybe a party wasn't such a bad idea.

"Well, I can take consolation in one thing," Rodney said as they reached the door.

"What's that?"

Rodney slapped Sheppard on the back. "You'll always be older than me."

"By four months."

"Older," he sing-songed.

"I hate you."

Rodney laughed and stepped inside. Teyla kissed him on the cheek. Ronon slapped him on the back and shoved a glass of something strong and spicy in his hands. The spaghetti was just the way he liked it, the cake almost put him in a sugar coma, and the singing was as atrocious as he'd feared.

And inside the box from his sister was his very own spectrometer.

* * *

_A/N: I'm a little behind in updating. Apologies for the story dump. Thanks to coolbreeze1 for the beta!_


	34. Every Rose Has its Thorn

**Every Rose Has its Thorn**

"I'm not sure 'rose gardens' was the correct translation of those glyphs." Evan pinched the bridge of his nose, berating himself for leaving his antihistamines on his bathroom counter. "Rose jungle is more like it."

"Not feeling well, Major?" Kryzinski asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Throbbing headache, unable to breathe, sinuses so clogged he felt like his eardrums would burst, and eyes that wouldn't stop watering. "I'm good, Ballsy." Marines didn't consider allergies manly, and Evan wouldn't give them one more opportunity to rag on the Air Force. "Keep your eyes peeled. Teyla says the locals are friendly, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

His team nodded as one, their gazes redirecting to the tangle of foliage that ripped at their clothing and hair. Thorns the size of his grandma's knitting needles adorned thick branches of blooms in a rainbow of colors that weaved through stately evergreens. Sergeant Woodson, who would have made a hell of a linebacker in another life, hacked his way through them with a sword borrowed from Ronon. Captain Kryzinski followed, his helmet jammed on to protect the riot of frizzy red hair that had earned him the nickname "Fireball" early in life. Lieutenant Phung, barely five feet tall and able to kick all their asses at the same time, brought up the six so silently Evan had to glance over his shoulder occasionally to make sure she was still there.

"Almost…through," Woodson grunted as he tugged and pulled until the sword came free from a branch as thick as Evan's bicep. "I can see the village."

Kryzinski swore and ducked when the branch swung toward his head. "How do these people get to the gate?"

"Don't think they have recently which is why we're here," Evan said. "No one has heard from them in a while, but no one's had time to check on them until now."

"Lucky us," Kryzinski muttered. "Step out of the way, Woody, and let a man handle it."

"Sure, Cap." Woodson offered the sword to Phung. "Have at it."

Kryzinski sputtered, and Phung arched a delicate brow before she effortlessly carved a neat path through the remaining web of thorns.

"Show-off." Woodson sheathed the sword in the scabbard he wore on his broad back. "I loosened it up."

"Dream on." Kryzinski snorted a laugh as he pushed past Woodson into the clearing.

Evan shook his head and clapped Woodson's shoulder when he went by.

Phung smiled pleasantly. "You need to hold the sword at more of an angle."

"Why didn't you say so half an hour ago?" Woodson asked as he followed her into the clearing.

"You didn't ask." She paused at Evan's elbow. "Looks awfully quiet, Major. I'd expect cook fires and playing children."

"Me, too, Lieutenant. Got a few faint life signs… this way." Evan waved a hand toward the far right building. "Let's go."

Evan changed the settings twice on the life signs detector, but the dots remained constant. No one was hiding in the jungle or the caves. Somehow, the village had gone from almost three thousand to twelve in a month's time. The pessimistic voice in his head whispered the unlikelihood that they were all on a pilgrimage. That voice was rarely wrong.

"Holy God." Kryzinski had reached the building and was backing away, one hand over his nose and mouth.

Thankful for his clogged sinuses, Evan stepped to the door and wished he hadn't. Anyone still alive wouldn't be for long. "Phung, double time it to the gate. Call for a med team, full hazmat gear. Tell them it looks like hemorrhagic fever." He turned to stare her in the eyes. "And no matter what, don't go through the gate. We stay here until a med team clears us. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

As she dashed off, Evan pulled the door closed. "Nothing we can do for these people."

"But, sir, some of them are still alive!" Woodson protested.

"We can't save them."

Kryzinski pulled off his helmet and raked his fingers through the mass of red curls. "We can offer them a little comfort."

"We don't know how this fever is spread," Evan said. "It could be airborne, but most likely it's spread through bodily fluids. Look at the cuts on your arms, Woody. If you come in contact with anything from those oozing sores, you'll be infected."

Woodson stood tall, reminding Evan of Teal'c less the gold tattoo. "I'll risk it, sir. I can't stand here and do nothing."

"We have gloves in the first aid kit," Kryzinski said, "and we can wrap cloths around our noses and mouths." He stripped off his tac vest and jacket. "My sleeves cover my arms, and Woody can wear my jacket to cover his."

His men's safety was his first concern, but Evan wanted to help the dying as much as his men did. After an agonizing moment, he nodded. "Glove up." As they sprang to it, he added, "We do this slowly and carefully. The weather's good so we'll bring the living out here."

With gloves pulled up over their sleeves and gauze over their noses and mouths, Woodson and Kryzinski resembled extras in a zombie movie, and Evan had to stifle a laugh. But opening the door to the sick house sucked all humor out of him. The first aid kit held only two pairs of gloves so Evan held the life signs detector, flinching each time a dot faded to black, and directed his men to the living. A glance told him the house held around fifty people. They pulled out eight who were still breathing.

"What now, Major?" Woodson questioned.

Evan knelt by a teenage boy, watching his slight chest lift and lower with each shallow breath. "We wait."

It was the longest ten minutes of his life. By the time Lieutenant Phung charged into the clearing leading six others outfitted in blue hazmat suits, the boy and a woman had died.

Keller stared at Evan for a minute, wide-eyed, then gave a sharp nod. "Major Lorne, I'll have to ask you and your team to remain here until we diagnose this and test you for it. In the meantime, don't touch anything."

"Understood, Doc." Evan turned to his team. "You heard the doc. Lieutenant, keep an eye on the gate. We don't want any unexpected visitors around."

Phung gave a sad smile and headed back into the thorny jungle.

Kryzinski and Woodson plopped down under a tree, their eyes following every movement made by the medics. Keller gathered blood samples from the six survivors while the others started IVs and strapped on oxygen masks.

When she turned to leave, Evan moved to her side. "Doc, I've seen something like this before. I'm guessing we'll need to burn the village." He cut his eyes toward his men who were staring grim-faced at the triage. "Maybe we can get started on that so no one else has to get exposed."

Keller's gaze roamed over the silent collection of homes. "Can you keep it controlled?"

Evan glanced at the sky. "Not much wind to speak of and the ground seems fairly moist. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Begin in the back and don't let it spread to the nearest buildings until we're ready to leave." She bobbed her head at the vials of blood in her hands. "It's going to take a few hours to analyze these samples even with all of Atlantis' wonders."

"I know."

Keller squeezed Evan's shoulder then eased into the jungle.

Evan strode toward the tree and kicked Kryzinski's boot. "Come on. We've got work to do."

They headed to the far side of the village and systematically went through each building even though the life sign detector showed nothing. A storage shed held vats of an oil likely used for lamps, and they generously doused the brightly painted wood frames of the farthest buildings. As the structures slowly burned, Evan again was thankful for his congested nasal passages as Kryzinski and Woodson pressed their hands over their gauze-covered faces. Once the first set was smoking embers, they moved to the next and the next until they reached the sick house.

Evan slumped as the medics placed another body back inside. "Damn."

"Doctor Keller reported in," one of the medics said. "They found a match of this virus in the database, along with a cure." The man shook his head as he looked over the devastated village. "If we'd only known…"

"I hear you. I'll bring it up to Colonel Sheppard and Mr. Woolsey as soon as I get back. We'll figure out a way for folks to contact us when something like this happens." Evan stared down at the three frail forms still breathing. "You said a cure. These people will live?"

"We think so. The doctor is on her way with the serum they found and more hazmat suits so we can get everyone home. Including you, sir."

Evan smiled gratefully. "Looking forward to that."

Later, when he was ensconced in a quarantine room with his teammates to wait out the two day incubation period, Evan smiled again. Phung was trying to teach Woodson, who had surprising grace for a man his size, some yoga poses while Kryzinski offered a few x-rated suggestions on what he could do in the poses. Evan had a sketch pad filled with drawings of worlds and people he worked with, but none he liked more than the ones of his team. Inhaling a breath of antiseptic-tinged air, Evan pulled out his sketch pad and got to work.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to kristen999 for the beta._


	35. Missing

**Missing**

"Missing?" John stared at the shimmering wormhole, trying to conjure up the babbling scientist's face on the other side. "What do you mean, 'missing?'"

"_Missing_," Doctor Ming repeated. "_As in 'cannot be found.' We've searched the entire village and the caves nearby_."

John scoffed at the notion of Rodney holing up in a cave. Nothing short of a fleet of hive ships would get that man in a small, enclosed space. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. "Start from the beginning."

"_We were close to wrapping our research – one more day, maybe two. The raiders attacked before dawn. I woke up in a burning building. People were screaming. I could hear gunfire, from the marines I guess. When it was over—_"

"Wait a second. Before dawn?" John did a quick calculation. "That was almost twelve hours ago. You're just now calling it in?"

"_I just now got the gate fixed_," Ming snapped. "_The raiders screwed with it before they left. It's… it's why I started looking for Doctor McKay._" Ming had the good sense to sound embarrassed. "_Ogando and his team are searching the forest as we speak, but the ore here renders the scanners useless. Not even sub-cu transmitters register._"

"Wake Woolsey," John whispered to Chuck, "and have Lorne assemble a rescue team." Exotic spice and the clomp of boots preceded Teyla and Ronon into Ops, and John tossed a grateful smile their way. "Hang tight, Doc. We'll be there in ten with a med team."

"_Thanks, Colonel_."

Chuck shut down the gate. "Mr. Woolsey is on his way. Major Lorne reports he has two teams ready to go. Doctor Keller and her team will be here in a minute."

John gave a sharp nod. "Bring Woolsey up-to-date, and have Lorne assemble his teams in the gate room." He turned to Teyla and Ronon. "Let's go."

He filled them in on the way to the mission ready room. John and Teyla zipped on tac vests and grabbed extra magazines for their P-90s while Ronon checked the charge on his blaster then put fresh batteries in his radio.

Seven minutes later, they were standing with the medics and marines, watching the chevrons slowly light on the gate.

"Come on, come on," John muttered.

Teyla squeezed his arm. "We will find him."

"This is McKay we're talking about. He shouldn't _be_ hard to find. He should be screaming his head off and berating everyone for their incompetence. If he isn't, it's because he's hurt or…"

"Or he yelled so much he lost his voice." The tight lines on Ronon's face belied the flippant remark. He spun his blaster and yanked the lapels of his brown duster as the gate blossomed to life. "He'll be talking about this for years." He strode through without a backwards glance.

John followed and plowed straight into Ronon's back. "What the… Oh no."

Rain – torrential, soaking rain. The kind that made rivers out of streets. The kind that washed away tracks.

Ronon squared his shoulders and stomped toward the steaming, charred husks of what once were homes and shops. The knot in the pit of John's stomach, the one that cramped whenever his team was in trouble, twisted ferociously, almost driving him to his knees. He staggered forward, his mind registering the blurps of the rest of the rescue party exiting the gate while he kept his eyes on Ronon.

"Stay positive, John," he whispered to himself. "This is McKay, the most resourceful guy you've ever met."

And it was true. John had humored Elizabeth by asking McKay to be on his team, never anticipating the man would accept, and certainly never expecting him to stay, not after that first mission involving Wraith, Iratus bugs, and near-death by stargate. But Rodney's healthy sense of self-preservation was usually overridden by an unrelenting curiosity that pushed him to strap on a gun and risk life and limb in the name of science. A man who had survived Wraith and Replicators and Kavanagh wouldn't go quietly.

"Find Ogando," John ordered Lorne, "and coordinate a grid search. We'll do a little investigating in town. Radio if you find anything, and I mean anything, that indicates where McKay might be. And I want someone covering the gate. No more surprises."

"Yes, sir." Lorne called the rescue team together, singled out one man to stand guard, and then headed toward the forest that covered the valley floor to the left of the village.

John turned to Keller. "Find Ming and Weisenhaus. They have a triage area set up somewhere. Do what you can. We'll call when we find McKay."

She nodded and reached for her radio while John jogged to catch up to Ronon and Teyla who had reached the center of what was left of the village. A small man dressed in a cool green linen tunic favored by the Keepers, the leadership of the Crulskan people, stood before them, head bowed.

"…help you rebuild," Teyla was saying. "Our healers are already here with medicines for your injured. We are grateful for your generosity in allowing us to study the Ancestral ruins on your world, and we ask for your assistance once again. One of our friends disappeared during the attack this morning. Can you tell us where he was before the raiders arrived?"

Ronon stood tall, looming over the Keeper, but a quick touch on the arm by Teyla had him taking a step back.

The Keeper's eyes followed the motion and then settled on Teyla's face. "Teyla of Athos, respectful are your words and honorable your actions." He touched his chest and bobbed his head. "The Learned One was meditating upon the works of the Ancestors when last he was seen."

Ronon rolled his eyes, and John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. McKay had preened like a peacock when the Crulskans had dubbed him The Learned One, though he would have squawked in protest at the idea of him meditating on anything. The reminder that his friend was missing sucked all the humor out of John.

"He was at the ruins when the attack began?" Ronon asked.

"Of that, I am uncertain," the Keeper replied. "Many hours he spent there, and little rest did he have. My people were at slumber when the aggression commenced. Keeper Grecia recorded a sighting of The Learned One and his helper, Feldman, at the edifice of the Ancestors before she retired at Second Watch."

"Approximately midnight," Teyla said before John could ask.

"Feldman was with him? I think we need to have a chat with the good doctor. Go find him," John told Ronon who wheeled and headed in the direction Keller had gone. "So, about four hours before the attack, McKay was at the ruins." If John knew him at all, Rodney had been buzzing on a caffeine high and going strong when the raiders hit. "We'll start there."

John looked toward the north end of town where they had spent three long weeks before McKay had announced that his study of the remnants of the ZPM manufacturing plant on this world would take at least another month. That had been two months ago. Guilt for not being there gnawed at John, but he knew it hadn't made sense for him, Teyla, and Ronon to hang out uselessly for weeks. Ronon was too restless, Torren needed Teyla, and as good as Lorne was, John was still the military commander of Atlantis with all the responsibilities that entailed.

Teyla placed her fingertips to her brow and inclined her head in the traditional Crulskan farewell then joined John near the edge of town. "I find it curious that Doctor Ming did not mention Doctor Feldman had been the last one to see Rodney," she murmured.

"Yeah, me too." John stared at the triage area, willing Ronon to return. Minutes later, the big guy was striding their way, his long gait causing the little man he had by the arm to scurry like a rat.

"Let go of me!" Feldman tried to wrench free but ended up getting tangled in Ronon's coat. "I am a highly valued member of this expedition, not some toy for you to play with."

Teyla's brows shot up. "Ronon?"

"He wouldn't come willingly." Ronon slung him forward then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "Where is McKay?"

"I told you I don't know." Feldman wriggled in his grasp and looked at John. "A little help?"

John studied Feldman for a second before nodding at Ronon who released him with a grunt and an unfriendly shove.

"I protest this treatment, Colonel. I hope you know that this will go in my report." Feldman scowled at Ronon and rubbed the back of his neck.

Teyla stepped forward, wearing a smile that most people took as genial, but one John recognized as lethal. "We apologize for any harm we caused. Our concern for Doctor McKay may have made us overzealous." She moved closer and placed a hand on Feldman's shoulder. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"I don't know exactly," Feldman said. "Sometime after dinner, I guess."

Teyla's eyes glittered as her grip tightened. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, yes, ow!" Feldman winced and tried to pull away. "That hurts!"

"I believe you are lying to me," Teyla said evenly.

"No, I'm not!" When Ronon squeezed his other shoulder, the man dropped to his knees. "Okay! Okay!" He slumped to all fours as Ronon and Teyla let him go. "We were working in the ruins when the attack started."

"And then?" John prompted.

Feldman stood, hate and fear twisting his features. "And then we ran for cover, only McKay kept tripping over his own two feet. He was hanging on to me, babbling about chocolate. Finally he fell flat on his face and wouldn't get up no matter what I said." The little man's gaze dropped to the ground. "It was an accident."

Ronon was at his side immediately, a hand wrapped around his throat. "What did you do?"

Feldman's face turned red as his feet dangled in the air. "Help!" he choked out.

Rage exploded in John's chest, and he got nose-to-nose with Feldman. "Is that what Rodney sounded like as he went into hypoglycemic shock?"

"Into what?"

"Where is he?" Teyla demanded.

Feldman clawed at Ronon's hand. "I— I—"

"Ronon," John said.

When Ronon opened his hand, Feldman tumbled to the ground, gasping for air.

John leaned down. "Where?"

"I don't know," the scientist sobbed. "It was dark. We were running then he collapsed. I— I kicked his hand away and he just disappeared. I would have searched, but I thought the Wraith were coming."

"So you left him for the Wraith?" Ronon growled.

"Better him than me!"

"And when you discovered it was not Wraith?" Teyla's lip curled in disgust. "Why did you not tell the others where to search?"

Feldman climbed to his feet and wiped his face with his sleeve. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ronon repeated.

"I was scared, all right?" Feldman blurted out. "I didn't want to get into trouble. He was so out of it I didn't think he'd remember what happened."

"Show us where you left him," John ground out.

Feldman nodded miserably and trudged toward the ruins. John hung back, fighting for control. If Rodney died because of that little weasel…

"I know a planet we can dial and toss that guy in," Ronon offered.

"Don't tempt me." John took a final deep breath and hurried after Feldman and Teyla, who was marching beside him.

When they reached the ruins, Feldman moved toward the remains of the entrance. "We were in the inner chamber," he said, gesturing inside. "The call about the attack came, and McKay—"

"_Doctor_ McKay," Teyla corrected.

Feldman swallowed thickly. "_Doctor_ McKay said we needed to get somewhere safe." He stepped closer to the entrance, scanning the crumbling rock. "One good blast would bring that down on our heads. That's what he said anyway."

Ronon frowned. "Blast?"

"The call said the village was being attacked. We both assumed Wraith." Feldman turned and stared out at the forest around them. "We went… this way." He pointed to the right. "Mc—Doctor McKay said the trees were thicker."

Ronon stalked toward a narrow path that was now mostly mud. John and Teyla sandwiched Feldman between them and followed, scrutinizing the edges of the path, the bark of the trees, and the underbrush as they went.

Feldman cleared his throat. "I didn't know—"

"Shut up," John growled.

"But I—"

"Only speak when asked a question or if you have something to contribute to the search." Teyla wrapped a hand around Feldman's wrist. "Do you understand?"

Feldman open his mouth, thought better of it, and nodded instead.

When they reached a fork in the path, Ronon stopped but didn't turn around. "Which way?"

"I'm not sure." Feldman squinted toward the left and then the right. "Everything was crazy. The screams over the radio…" He shuddered as he jammed his hands under his armpits. "The right, I think."

Ronon huffed in disgust and stomped through the mud sluicing slightly downhill. John plucked at his rain-soaked shirt that clung to him like a second skin, hoping that McKay had found a place that was warm and dry. Only the squelch of mud under their boots interrupted the drumming rain. It was soothing, almost hypnotizing.

John blinked and took a step back as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Years of experience had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now they were screaming at him to stop.

Teyla hovered at his elbow. "What is wrong?"

"I don't know." John took another step back, searching the underbrush on their left. "Something…"

"Got it," Ronon said as he reached under a rotted log to pull out a very familiar tablet.

John flipped it over and smiled. The Hannah Montana sticker Madison had "decorated" the tablet with, and that John would never ever let Rodney live down, peeked from under a smear of mud. He tucked the tablet in his jacket. "Spread out. He has to be nearby."

Ronon pushed through the underbrush into the forest.

"Rodney!" Teyla called as she crossed the path and searched the other side.

John studied the trail then turned to Feldman. "Think. Where did he fall?"

"It could have been anywhere. Everything looks the same."

"If you want to make it to tomorrow, you'd better come up with something."

Feldman's chin jutted forward. "Are you threatening me?"

John narrowed his eyes and stepped into Feldman's personal space. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Feldman backed away then studied the ground around them. "I think there were more rocks."

They trudged ahead until they reached a bend in the trail. Small, gravel-like stones littered the curve.

A life signs detector teetered on the edge.

"McKay!" John bellowed, shoving past Feldman then skidding to a stop on the muddy rocks. He fell to his right knee as his left foot shot into empty air. John crawled forward, flicked on the light of his P-90 and peered over the drop-off. "Oh, God."

Ten feet below was McKay, one leg folded awkwardly under him, face down, not moving.

"Here!" John shouted. "He's here!" He keyed his radio and called for Lorne and Keller, giving directions as he slowly made his way down.

McKay skin was icy, translucent, and John held his breath as he checked Rodney's pulse, sagging in relief at the rapid flutter under his fingertips. He gently rolled McKay onto his back and chuckled at the Hershey wrapper clutched in his hand.

"How is he?" Teyla asked as she knelt beside him.

"Alive."

Ronon spread his coat over McKay then gently ran his hands over the twisted leg. "Don't think it's broken."

"Rodney?" Teyla leaned over him, shielding his face from the rain and brushing his matted hair from his eyes. "Can you hear me?"

McKay twitched.

"Come on, McKay. Open your eyes," John coaxed. "You're going to miss dinner at home. It's steak night."

"With pie for dessert," Ronon added. "_Kocha_ berry with cream."

Rodney shuddered but still didn't waken.

"Let me, Colonel." Keller and her team settled around them. "Please."

John gripped Rodney's shoulder and squeezed. "Hang in there, McKay." He pushed to his feet and climbed up to where Lorne and his teams were waiting.

"We can't get a jumper in here, sir, but as soon as Keller gives the go-ahead, we'll have him on a stretcher and to the gate." Lorne dipped his head toward Feldman who was being held by Ogando. "What do you want us to do with him?"

"Take him back to Atlantis and throw him in the brig."

"What!" Feldman exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

Ronon slammed a fist into the man's face, and he collapsed in a heap.

Lorne folded his arms and stared down at Feldman. "Gotta watch that mud. It's really slippery."

"Tell Woolsey he'll get a full report as soon as Keller has McKay stabilized."

"Yes, sir." Lorne motioned for one of the marines who slung Feldman over his shoulder like a sack and headed toward the gate.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Marines heaved the stretcher up to the path while medical personnel hurried alongside it, IVs in hand. The trek to the gate was surprisingly fast given the weather and the mud, and when they reached the village, the shimmering blue of an active wormhole glowed ahead of them. They shot through and another team, one without mud-slicked boots on, strapped Rodney to a gurney and raced to the infirmary. By the time John, Teyla, and Ronon got there, McKay was hidden behind a string of medics and a privacy curtain.

Marie met them at the door. "We're working on him. You all need to get out of those wet clothes. I'm sure the doctor will have news for you when you get back."

John thought about protesting, but he knew the futility of it. Plus, she was right. All they were doing was tracking mud and water into a sterile area. He double-timed it to his quarters, took the hottest and fastest shower on record, and was back in the infirmary before the orderly had finished cleaning the floor.

McKay was buried under a web of wires – IV drips in both arms and leads stuck all over his head and chest. A brace was strapped to his leg. The mud had been scrubbed away, and his skin had pinked up a little.

"He's going to be fine." Keller materialized at his side, dabbing at her hair with the towel draped around her neck. "His blood sugar is very low, but not as low as I'd expected." She grinned wryly. "Good thing someone keeps his vest stocked with extra chocolate bars."

John flushed but didn't answer, making a mental note to order another case in the next supply run.

Keller's grin widened. "Well, I'm in desperate need of a hot shower and a cup of coffee. Can you sit with him until I get back?"

"Sure, Doc. No problem."

He pulled a chair next to Rodney's bed then went to get two more, knowing Teyla and Ronon wouldn't be far behind him.

"Hold down the racket," McKay mumbled. "Trying to sleep here."

Relief flooded through John, and he didn't bother to hide the silly grin spreading across his face. "Could've fooled me."

"Like that would take much." McKay opened one eye and sniffed. "What is that smell?"

John sat back and propped his feet on the side of the bed. "We call it soap. Most people use it once a day."

"You should consider changing brands," McKay mumbled. "Took you long enough to find me."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Good thing you dropped that life signs detector on the trail before you fell."

McKay fumbled with the bed controls until the head lifted. "Dropped? I didn't drop it. I tossed it up there."

John snorted. "You did not. You throw like a girl."

"I do not. Well, actually…" McKay smiled smugly. "I guess I do. Teyla taught me. We are going to totally kick your ass in the next softball tournament."

"I should call Keller because you are clearly delusional."

"Oh, stop. I can't stand the hilarity." McKay blinked languidly and settled deeper into the bed. "Feldman?"

"In the brig." John leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Want me to let Ronon spend some quality time with him?"

McKay sighed heavily. "Yes, but don't."

"Really?"

"He panicked. I— I understand that."

"He left you to die."

"People do stupid stuff when they're scared shitless. Some turn into sniveling cowards, and some of us," Rodney thumped his chest, "bravely sacrifice ourselves for others."

John rolled his eyes. "Getting kidnapped by evil Asgard doesn't count as sacrificing yourself."

"I saved Carter that one time. I have the scars to prove it." McKay held up his hands. "And then there was that time—"

"Yeah, yeah. You're a real hero." John cut McKay off before he dredged up some of the more painful memories of his willingness to sacrifice. Nightmares about Wallace still popped up on occasion. "So… what?"He lifted his hands in confusion. "You want to just forget it happened?"

"Oh, hell no. Feldman is jealous and petty and not bright enough to make toast. He's headed back to Earth on the next dial-out. The only job he'll get after this is teaching intro physics at some second rate community college, and that's if I'm feeling generous."

"Are you sure?"

McKay yawned and nodded. "I'm starving, by the way. Did you bring me something to eat? I thought it was steak night."

John narrowed his eyes. "How did you know that?"

"Steak night is always the second Thursday of the month." McKay, who couldn't lie unless under extreme pressure, blinked in confusion. "Don't pretend like you don't have it circled in red on your calendar."

"Doesn't everybody?" John grinned at him. "However, it's not night yet. You'll have to wait until dinner for that steak, but I bet we can find something in the meantime."

"Perhaps sandwiches?" Teyla announced as she and Ronon entered. "Turkey and ham."

"And _skirsk_." Ronon bit into one with stringy, dark meat. "My favorite."

John arched a brow. "It seems like they serve your favorite something almost every day."

"That's because he likes everything," McKay said around a mouthful of bread.

Teyla shook her head. "No, it is because Lieutenant Friedricks is smitten with him."

"Is not," Ronon protested.

"Oh, she so is." McKay stretched to peer in the bag Teyla had. "You have any chips in there?"

The knot in John's stomach slowly dissolved at the realization that his team was safe and together again. John grabbed a turkey sandwich and took a big bite, happy to be home.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to kristen999 for the beta._


	36. Ask

**Ask**

The great thing about the doors at the SGC was that they could be slammed. Hard.

"Feel better now?" McKay asked.

"No." John yanked the office door open and slammed it again. "Stupid goddamn bureaucrats!"

McKay folded his arms and arched a brow. "What were you expecting?"

John sighed as he flopped in his chair and stared at the ceiling in disgust. "I don't know… Maybe that they'd listen to reason for once."

"Reason and bureaucrat should never go in the same sentence."

"True, but…" John sat up and braced his forearms on the desk. "There has to be a way to make them listen. Atlantis belongs in Pegasus."

McKay pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and dropped in a chair across from John. "I know that. You know that. Carter and O'Neill and Woolsey know that. Hell, everybody here knows that except those IOA pricks."

Rage bubbled up in John again. "'Take it under advisement' my ass. They are going to sit in there and piss around to pass time for appearances sake, and then they'll announce that Atlantis is needed to defend Earth and leave her parked out there in the middle of the damn Doldrums."

"You said that was the best place for her."

"Temporarily, McKay. Not forever!"

"Well, we have to give the IOA a reason to make it temporary."

"Don't you think I've been trying!" John scrubbed his hands over his face and glared at McKay. "Why does this conversation feel backward?"

Rodney snorted. "Because you're usually the one trying to talk sense into me."

John closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, but the calm he needed to think clearly wasn't coming. "I need to get out of here," he muttered.

"And go where?"

"Anywhere."

"And just how do you plan on doing that? It's not like you've got a spare jumper parked out back."

John looked up at him, a smile blossoming. "Got something almost as good. Want to go for a ride?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know how many diagnostics I have to run? Half the systems were still on the fritz from Carson's sorry excuse for a landing when you lifted her up and plunked her down again. Zelenka hasn't finished repairing all the…" McKay trailed off then threw his hands in the air. "Aw, hell, why not?"

"Meet me topside in half an hour." John stood, allowing the anticipation of the open road to lighten his mood. "Bring some snacks."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, no uniforms."

McKay nodded and left. John blew out a final agitated breath and followed him out, heading to the command center. He didn't have many personal belongings, hadn't needed many since he had lived on military bases for several years before going to Atlantis. However, when the Ancients kicked them out a couple of years ago and he found himself living in Colorado Springs, he'd rented an apartment and had his car shipped down. Once he'd returned to Atlantis, he arranged to have his apartment sublet, his few sticks of furniture sold, and his belongings shipped to him. His car, on the other hand, he'd left with the one person he knew would give it the care it deserved.

John tapped on the door and waited until he heard a barked, "Enter!"

"Sir."

O'Neill heaved a sigh. "I've used up all my words for the day, Sheppard. I'm going to O'Malley's for a steak and a beer, and I'm not thinking about anything other than whether the Blackhawks are going to have a decent team this year."

"Didn't come to talk, sir. Thought I might go for a drive."

"Oh." O'Neill's eyes widened. "Oh! Guess you'll be needing these then." He fished a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them at John. "It's in the parking lot. I had Walter fill the tank this morning."

John caught the keys then leaned against the door jamb. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Since the day you almost killed me in that helicopter."

"Thought my exceptional flying saved your life."

"Same difference." O'Neill walked around the desk as he shrugged on his uniform jacket. "I know how strange this is going to sound coming from me, but antagonizing the IOA is not the way you want to play this. As painful as this is to say, you need to let Woolsey take the lead. He knows how to play the game." He quirked a smile. "And never let 'em see they're getting to you. They can smell the blood in the water." He patted John's shoulder and walked out.

"I know," John mumbled under his breath as he banged his head on the door jamb before turning to go to his quarters, berating himself along the way. He had a whole new appreciation for how much Elizabeth, Carter and Woolsey had protected him and the rest of the expedition from the idiocy of the IOA. The past three days of mind-numbing meetings with the entire board, with their self-serving demands and backstabbing ways, had made him seriously consider Ronon's offer to make the problem go away.

John tossed his uniform on the bed, slid on his favorite jeans and hoodie, and tied his sneakers. He stuffed his wallet in his pocket and headed out only to turn around to get the cell phone he'd left on his nightstand. By the time he reached the first floor, Rodney was waiting for him.

"Seriously, McKay? A Transformers t-shirt?"

McKay's lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed. "A man wearing a Batman sweatshirt should not be casting aspersions. Besides," he said, shifting the bag of snacks from his left arm to his right, "it was either this or the Hannah Montana shirt my niece bought me."

John grimaced. "Ouch."

McKay just shook his head. "So, where are we going?"

"First things first, Rodney. Come with me."

They signed out and exited the facility, making their way to employee parking. John grinned as shiny red sparkled in the sunlight. He'd known O'Neill would take good care of it.

"That's your car?"

John ran a hand over the hood. "Yep. Bought it when I was in high school and spent every spare minute and dollar I had restoring it. Took me six years, but it was worth it."

"A '67 Camaro?"

"I'm impressed, McKay. Didn't know you were a car aficionado."

"Are you kidding?" Rodney opened the driver's door and popped the hood. "My neighbor had a black one when I was in grade school. It was the closest thing to the Batmobile I'd ever seen."

John nodded. "I can understand that."

"V8 engine?"

"Yeah. Six point five liter big block."

"How fast does she go?"

John grinned. "Fast." He closed the hood, trailing his fingers over the wide white racing stripes. "You ready?"

In answer, McKay hopped in and buckled his seat belt. John slid behind the wheel, unable to hide a grin as he fired up the engine and let it race, revving it a couple of time. Then he slammed it into gear and peeled out of the lot, fishtailing slightly on the gravel as he turned onto the main road.

"So, your dad wouldn't buy you a car, either?"

John took a quick right onto a two lane road. "What?"

"You said you bought it and restored it. I figured that since your family was, you know, loaded, that your dad must have refused to buy you a car for some reason." McKay leaned over and studied the dials on the dash. "It was just one more thing for my parents to argue about. My mom thought having a car would make me more popular. My dad said it would isolate me further, that not having one would force me to make friends so I could get places."

When McKay didn't continue, John snuck a sideways glance at him. Rodney was staring out the passenger window, the familiar stress lines around his eyes and mouth deepening. John focused on the road, torn between wanting to know how it turned out and fear of the conversation becoming too personal. An unhappy childhood was something they shared without having to actually share.

"Like that was going to happen," McKay mumbled. "I was a sixteen year-old university junior with bad acne and a double major in physics and mechanical engineering. You can imagine how many friends I made having to ask for a ride everywhere."

John winced in sympathy. That age was a bitch for anybody, but for brainiacs with no social skills and no car, it had to have been torture. "So, what did you do?"

"The research papers for everyone in Intro Physics."

"How many rides did that get you?"

"Rides?" McKay scoffed. "I charged for them. Made enough to buy my own car."

John huffed a laugh. "I should have known."

"Yeah, well…" McKay shrugged. "I did what I had to."

John's hands tightened reflexively on the steering wheel, as that familiar backed-into-a-corner feeling surfaced again. "My father bought me a Porsche for my sixteenth birthday."

McKay twisted to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Really?"

"He sent me and Dave to this elite prep school, and all the kids drove something like that. It was a status thing for him." John swallowed the rising bitterness. "I didn't even know how to drive. I had to ask our chauffer to show me."

"Did he teach you how to work on cars, too?"

Remembrance brought a soft smile to John's face. "Yeah. Brady knew everything about cars. I told him what kind I wanted, and he helped me find this baby." He rubbed the dash lovingly. "He made me do every bit of the work myself."

His father had never known.

John's smile faded. His father had never stepped foot in the eight car garage that was Brady's domain, and where the Camaro had sat in pieces for years, waiting for after school and weekends and the spending money John scrounged from lunchtime poker games because asking his old man for anything always came at a price. A price that was usually higher than he wanted to pay.

Memories of heated arguments and painful silences of the past blended with the frustrations of the last three days, bringing the rage back to full boil. John gunned the engine and grinned in satisfaction when the Camaro leaped forward in response. McKay's yelp was barely audible over the wind roaring through the open window. John inhaled and released it slowly, losing himself in the grip of the tires on the road, the thrum of the engine that vibrated from his fingertips to his spine, the fresh air whipping through his hair. For a few minutes, the cares of the world faded away.

McKay broke the silence when he rummaged through his goodie bag. "I've got Coke, Orange Crush, and water."

"Coke." John peeked in the bag. "What else do you have?"

"Oreos—"

"Double stuffed?"

"Of course." Rodney set the cookies on the dash. "Plus barbeque Lays, beef jerky, half a jar of cashews, and gummy bears."

"Gummy bears! Whose locker did you raid?" When Rodney's shoulders hunched to his ears, John's stomach sank. "McKay?"

"Teal'c's."

"Are you nuts?" John handed him the unopened soda. "Put it all back."

"Why?" Rodney shoved the can into his hand.

John pushed it back. "Because Teal'c might break you in half then Ronon would have to fight Teal'c out of team loyalty and we just got him put back together."

"So I'm going to starve because you're worried about Ronon." Rodney held out the soda. "The drinks came from the Mess Hall."

John popped the top and took a swig. "Teal'c? What were you thinking?"

"You said get snacks." Rodney stuffed the food in the bag. "Where did you think I was going to get them?"

"The Mess Hall?"

"Have you seen what they serve in there these days? Apparently Lam made them start serving healthy food."

John rolled his eyes. "God forbid."

McKay arched a brow. "The snacks they had available were rice cakes, carrot sticks, and sugar free jello. Sugar free! What's the point?"

"But Teal'c?"

"It was the only locker not locked."

"Wow. I can't imagine why." John checked the rearview mirror and prepared to turn around. "Let's hope he doesn't notice before we get back."

"It's going to take at least two hours to get back."

"And?"

"And I'm starving now."

John opened his mouth then snapped it shut. "Fine."

At the next intersection, John took a left and followed a winding road for several miles until he spotted a small diner painted denim blue with beige trim and a sign that read, "Rosa's." He pulled in and got out, breathing the crisp mountain air and salivating at the hickory-laced scent of grilled steak.

"I really hope that's as good as it smells," Rodney said.

"Me, too. I'm tired of mystery meat."

The bell jingled as they entered and a dark-haired woman glanced up from the register. "Take a seat. I'll be right with you."

They found an empty booth in the back, walking past a table of giggling teens, a harried mom trying to convince her youngest to not throw her food on the floor, and several blue collar workers, based on their dusty jeans and scuffed work boots.

"Where are we?" McKay asked.

John slid in with a shrug and handed Rodney a menu from the stack pinned between the napkin holder and the wall. "Someplace nice. Now, find something to eat."

The dark-haired woman came over, pad and pencil in hand. "I'm Monica. What can I get you?"

John flashed a smile. "What do you suggest?"

"Everything here is good, hon. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?"

McKay didn't bother to look up from the menu. "Beer. No lime."

"Budweiser okay?"

"Yeah. Did I say no lime?"

"No lime, got it." Monica scribbled on her pad. "And you?"

"Do you have lemonade?" John ignored Rodney's horrified gasp. "With lots of lemon?"

Monica chuckled. "You bet. Be right back."

"Lemonade? You?"

"I like lemonade. Besides, I'm driving."

McKay snorted in derision. "Like that's stopped you before."

"When have you ever seen me drink and drive?" John challenged.

"Maybe not drive, but fly a couple of times."

"The next day. Never directly afterward."

"I hardly think one beer—"

"I don't want to be the one responsible for some six year-old losing his mom." John snapped his mouth shut, irritated with himself for revealing too much.

McKay was quiet for a full minute. "John, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" John bluffed. But McKay, damn him, had learned to read John over the years, and simply stared at him, wide eyes filled with compassion. "It was a long time ago, Rodney."

McKay turned silent again, no better at knowing how to handle awkward moments than John.

"I'm starving," John finally said, flipping the menu over to scan through the specials. "Enchiladas," he moaned. "I haven't had decent enchiladas in forever."

"You think they make decent enchiladas in Colorado?"

"No idea, but I'm willing to find out."

Monica returned with their drinks, utensils, and a straw for John. "Have you decided?"

"Does your beef come from grain-fed or grass-fed animals?" Rodney asked.

"Grass-fed. And we buy our food from local growers and ranchers whenever possible."

"I'll have the rib-eye and baked potato, loaded."

"And I'll have the chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce." John glanced up. "Are your jalapeños grown locally, too?"

Monica laughed as she wrote down the order. "I'm afraid not. We have those shipped in from Mexico."

John grinned. "I'd like extra jalapeños, please."

"You got it."

John scanned the room again, doing a mental count of patrons and checking for exits.

McKay heaved a sigh. "Would you stop that?"

"What?"

"Scoping the place out. There are no bad guys here."

"How do you know?"

"Look at this place." McKay waved an arm wide. "I expect Andy and Opie any minute."

John raised a brow. "Haven't you learned not to judge by appearances yet?"

"Of course I have, but this is Colorado not the Genii home—"

"McKay," John warned. "Remember where you are."

"Like I could forget." Rodney sipped his beer. "You really think they're causing trouble back… you know where?"

"Oh, hell yes. We left a power vacuum there. As soon as they figured out we were gone, they made their move."

"And all those hours in Coalition meetings wasted."

"Exactly." John grabbed a napkin and tore off a strip. "Just imagine what Todd's buddies are doing."

McKay closed his eyes. "Were we wrong to come back here?"

"No." John was emphatic. "We were not only defending our…home, but Teal'c's and everyone else's. Todd and his people have one stronghold. We can't give them another. But we also can't surrender the advances we've made in the past five years." He stopped talking when Monica set their plates before them.

"Do you need anything else right now?" she asked.

"We're good, thanks," John said, mouth watering as the spicy foods teased his nose. He scooped up a bite and his taste buds danced with joy. "Oh, my God, that's good."

McKay grunted in reply, intent on cutting his steak into little pieces. Sweat trickled down John's face as he bit into a jalapeño seed and chased it down with a gulp of lemonade. They ate in silence, their forks scraping in time with the soft jazz playing in the background. Monica stopped by to refill John's lemonade and to bring Rodney another beer. A steady stream of customers came through – truckers and families, college kids and farmers. And not a single one checked the skies for Wraith.

"We've got to find a way to convince the IOA to let us go back." John's fork clattered on the plate. "We can't leave those people defenseless."

"What other arguments are there?" Rodney asked. "I talked for hours about the potential technological advances, not just in the city but in searching out the people Elizabeth gave us information on. You covered the dangers of letting Todd's people grow strong again."

"Not to mention the possibility that they could still find their way here. Some of our people are out there." John used to have the names of all the MIA memorized, but the list had grown too long. But he kept a copy of the list in his tac vest and read over it before every mission.

"Isn't that an argument to keep us here?"

"Not really. Better to catch it at the beginning than to have them show up at our doorstep unannounced. Next time, it could be a whole fleet."

Rodney wadded up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. "Well, that's depressing."

"Yes, it is," John said evenly as he checked his watch. "I guess we'd better start heading back. It'll be dark soon."

They turned down the dessert Monica offered, paid the bill, and got in the car. John buckled his seatbelt and headed back the way they'd come, rolling up the window against the cool early evening air. By the fourth hairpin turn, the tension in his neck and shoulders began to ease. Nothing relaxed him like driving or flying.

He pushed away the lingering frustrations and focused on the road, enjoying the majesty of the trees and the splashes of color from the sunset peeking through them. When he made the next turn, the headlights flashed off a mass of brown and gray on the left shoulder.

The mass leaped forward, directly in their path.

"Sheppard!"

"Shit!"

Brakes squealed. Metal crunched. Pain. Then nothing.

xxx

John didn't realize his eyes were open until a fuzzy face hovered over his. He could feel hands checking him for injuries, the prick of a needle in his arms, the rough gravel of the road through his shirt and jeans, a steady throb in his right ankle and left knee which told him he wasn't paralyzed, but neither could he move, not even his eyes. His head pounded mercilessly and a warm trickle was running down the left side of his face. Sound was distorted, coming in waves. A piercing wail jumbled with someone shouting. Something heavy pressed on his wrist and the shouting got louder. Then his lids closed on their own and everything faded away.

xxx

Sounds and smells flitted on the edge of his consciousness, but no amount of willpower could force his body to respond to his commands. His eyes remained firmly shut, and his fingers refused to curl around the hand in his. Voices were garbled beyond recognition, prompting childhood memories of Charlie Brown specials to pop in his mind. Muted pain thrummed along his left side. Hands probed his temple and ankle. He wanted to pull away, but the darkness reached up and dragged him back down.

xxx

The voices were clearer this time. A soft feminine hum at his right ear wasn't enough to drown out the strident argument from somewhere nearby. He knew the owners of the voices, could almost see their faces, but they danced out of reach when he grabbed for them.

The argument grew louder.

"…telling you he can't be moved."

"I don't give a shit what you're telling me. Go practice your voodoo somewhere else."

"With a brain injury like his, the best course of action is to wait. The risk of brain damage is too great."

"We can fix him on Atlantis."

The feminine hum stopped. "Rodney, perhaps you and Doctor Lam should take this discussion someplace more…private."

"He needs help, Teyla."

"I know, but if the doctors think waiting is best for John, then we must trust them."

"His coma is most likely not permanent, Doctor McKay."

"Most likely. Meaning you have no idea if he'll ever wake up."

"No, I don't. And since I have no way to ask Colonel Sheppard what he wants, we have to do what I think is best."

_Ask…what he wants_. Something flickered in the back of John's mind, something so ephemeral it vanished almost before he knew it was there. The voices droned on as John chased the mysterious idea fluttering just out of his grasp.

xxx

Time had no meaning. Awareness came, bringing sounds – a voice encouraging him to awaken, rumbling snores, a never-ending clatter, arguments, singing, a child's giggle. Touches were ever-present; hands squeezed his arms, patted his leg, gripped his fingers. He never realized when awareness left him until it came back. He floated on a sea of cotton, cocooned by pressure on his face, arms, and legs.

Occasionally his senses heightened until he was sure the cocoon was about to tear away. The sharp scent of antiseptic irritated his nose and the throb in his knee became a spike of pain.

"Sheppard?" Fingers tightened on his hand. "You in there?"

He knew that low growl and iron grip.

"You need to wake up now."

Long dreadlocks draped over muscular shoulders. Eyes that flashed with hatred or crinkled in laughter.

"You've been lazy long enough."

A warrior. A friend. A brother.

John curled his fingers.

"That's it." Cloth whispered and the bed jostled. "Nurse is coming."

Ronon. A man who'd lost his entire world, his home, and was in danger of losing another one.

"McKay said you had brain damage. Told him you'd always been like this."

Rodney. Enchiladas and beer. Driving.

Car crash?

Oh, God. Rodney.

A beep to his left increased in speed.

"Open your eyes, John."

McKay. He had to know if McKay was all right.

John tightened his hold on the fingers.

"Open your eyes."

John turned his head toward the voice and, with every ounce of strength he had, forced his eyes open.

"Hey." Ronon's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Knew you could do it."

John squeezed his hand again.

Ronon's brows drew together. "What is it?"

John glanced around the room then squeezed as hard as he could.

Ronon followed his gaze. "Who… Oh, McKay? Are you looking for McKay?"

John blinked once.

"McKay's fine. You slam your foot through the floor, bust up your knee, and bang your head. He gets a scratch on his forehead and a bruise from that belt thing." Ronon shook his head. "Figures."

An unfamiliar face in scrubs appeared over Ronon's shoulder. "Welcome back, Colonel. Everyone's going to be thrilled to see you awake. I'll get the doctor."

Ronon glanced after her then leaned forward. "You're in a local hospital. Someone heard the crash and called for help before McKay woke up. Lam's been monitoring your progress since they couldn't move you."

John let his lids slide shut, content knowing his friends were okay and there with him.

xxx

When he woke up next, the tube down his throat was gone and McKay was sprawled in a chair, a pristine white bandage taped to his right temple.

_Ask…what he wants._

John frowned at the thought, knowing it was important but not knowing why. Then the dry tickle in his throat made itself known. When he coughed, McKay shot upright with a gasp, eyes wild.

"Sheppard?" Rodney sagged back then reached for a cup. "Ice chip?"

John nodded as he tried to stifle the cough. Seconds later, cool relief coated his mouth and throat. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Are you," Rodney waved a hand, "all there?"

"Are you?"

McKay rubbed at the bandage. "I'm fine." A smile flashed then vanished immediately as he stared.

"What?" John asked.

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you staring?"

"I'm not…" Rodney's ears turned pink and his gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought you were dead."

"When?" John lifted the cup of ice from his rolling tray and tipped another piece in his mouth. "Just now?"

"Of course not. Are you sure you don't have brain damage?"

"Pretty sure."

"Like you'd know." McKay settled in his chair and tipped his head back. "On the road. The paramedics were working on you. Your eyes were open. One of them stepped on your wrist and you didn't even flinch."

"I'm not dead, Rodney."

McKay sat up and looked at him. "Try to keep it that way for a while."

"I'll see what I can do." A horrid thought struck. "How's my car?"

"Um." McKay winced in sympathy. "Let's just say that if the IOA doesn't send us back, you'll have plenty here to keep you busy."

John's heart sank. "That bad?"

"You slid sideways into a big-ass deer. The entire left side of the car is caved in and the driver's side window is cracked where your hard head hit it."

"How's the frame?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Like I checked to see."

"But it can be repaired, right?"

"I'm sure you can find someone to fix it. For a small fortune."

"It'll be worth it. Love that car." Sleep began to tug at John, but he had one more question. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

John blinked in surprise. "Days?"

"Coma."

"Days," John whispered. He was supposed to be doing something. "Something important."

"What?"

His head began to pound as he fought with the memories. "We were driving. We crashed into a deer."

"Yes. Well, technically you were driving. I was riding. We've covered this already." McKay glanced over his shoulder. "Lam says you can be moved now. As soon as she makes the red tape fairies happy, we'll put on a show of loading you in an ambulance then have the Hammond beam you to Atlantis."

"Atlantis."

Rodney's eyes bulged. "You do remember Atlantis, right?"

"Yeah." John closed his eyes as the headache throbbed harder. "The IOA meetings."

_Ask…what he wants._

"Still going on," McKay sighed. "Sam texts me with updates."

_Ask._

"Ask."

McKay tilted his head. "Ask who what?"

John clutched his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Ask what he… what they want." He shook his head. "No, what they wanted." He glanced up. "The Ancients, McKay. Atlantis is theirs, and we know they wanted her in Pegasus. You have to make the IOA see that."

"What are you talking about?"

"When the Ancients left Pegasus, they could have taken Atlantis with them, brought her to Earth then, but they didn't."

McKay nodded, his eyes losing focus. "They could have easily outrun the Wraith since the Wraith don't have intergalactic hyperdrives. But they left Atlantis in Pegasus for us to find." His mouth twisted. "Why is the IOA going to care?"

"Make them care. The Ancients were way smarter than us—"

"I wouldn't say—"

"Built any stargates lately?" John asked, arching a brow until McKay huffed and looked away. "Didn't think so. If the IOA wants a control chair, we'll get one for them. That planet with Atlantis's twin has one they aren't using. Earth can defend herself. Convince the IOA that the Ancients knew that. The Ancients could have built another Atlantis here, but they didn't. Atlantis belongs in Pegasus. Talk to Carter and Woolsey. Find a way to sell it."

McKay pushed to his feet and began to pace. "We can thread all the arguments together. Present all the benefits of sending Atlantis back to Pegasus, starting with that's where the Ancients wanted her. We can always fly her back to Earth if we need to, but we stand a better chance of protecting Earth from the Wraith by fighting them in Pegasus instead of waiting until they get here, or somewhere else in this galaxy."

"Wouldn't want to start an intergalactic incident by letting the Wraith loose in Jaffa territory."

"Definitely not." McKay whirled to face John. "The Ancients knew we were coming to Atlantis. Elizabeth told them in that first timeline. They knew we would come one day, and they left Atlantis for us."

John nodded, relaxing as the headache began to ease. "Exactly. They purposefully left her. We can keep tabs on the Wraith from Pegasus."

"Plus follow up on those advanced civilizations. After all, the SGC's mission has always been to locate advanced technology to defend Earth. Who knows what kinds of advanced weaponry could still be waiting for us to discover?" McKay rubbed his hands gleefully. "We could be one mission away from finding a ZPM lab."

"Or a jumper factory."

"Or those scary aliens that shot me when the Daedalus was shifting through universes."

"You might not want to bring them up. But how about that cool portable teleportation device that runner had?"

McKay sighed as he dropped into his chair. "I really want one of those."

John grinned. "Then convince the IOA to send us back."

xxx

"Would you like some help, John?"

"Please." John grinned wryly as Teyla backed his wheelchair into the transporter. "I can fly an entire city through space, but I can't get myself inside a door in this thing." He shook his head. "I'm headed to the Mess."

"Then we shall go together."

The doors shut, light flashed, and they exited on the Mess Hall level. John did his best to look tough as Teyla pushed him past several tables filled with Marines and wheeled him onto the balcony.

"What would you like to eat?" Teyla asked.

"Cheeseburger, extra onions."

Teyla laughed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I continue to ask."

Minutes later she returned with a tray, placing a cheeseburger and a bottle of water in front of him, and keeping a tuna salad sandwich for herself.

"No fries?"

Teyla tossed him a bag of chips. "How much longer will you have to use the wheelchair?"

"Another couple of days. Keller says my knee is almost back to normal. I'll have to keep the cast on my ankle for a while, but at least I'll graduate up to crutches." John squirted ketchup and mustard on his burger then took a bite. "Any news from McKay?"

"Not today." Teyla sipped her apple juice. "But I understand that the meeting went long into the night."

"It's been a week. How much longer is this going to take?" John heaved a sigh. "I should be there."

"You should be here, resting." Teyla arched a brow. "And do not pretend that you have been."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I have seen you try to walk. Your balance is still off."

"Is not," John retorted. Teyla stared at him until the heat rose in his cheeks. "Well, maybe a little. Keller said I'd have balance problems for a while because of my head injury."

"She also said it was a miracle that your other injuries were minor."

"A broken ankle isn't minor," John protested.

"It is compared to what might have been," Teyla replied. "Rodney showed me the pictures of your vehicle. Even your head injury could have been much worse."

"Yeah." John shuddered to think of how bad it could have been. Once his brain had recovered from the trauma and he'd woken up, his recuperation had been rapid. Now, he was back on Atlantis and working hard to get healthy. "This cast isn't helping my balance any, you know. I could walk much better without it."

"You stagger about in the same way you did when you had too much Ruus wine at the last harvest festival." The humor fled Teyla's face and she dropped her gaze.

"We'll get you home, Teyla. I promise."

"I know. Colonel Carter offered to take us on her ship." She grasped his hand. "It would not be the same." She squeezed his fingers and offered a small smile. "But we do not have to worry about that because I have full confidence that Samantha, Rodney and Mr. Woolsey will convince the IOA to let us all go."

John glanced up when Ronon's bark of laughter filled the room as he entered with Rodney. McKay's grin told John all he needed to know.

"You're right, Teyla. We're going home."

* * *

_A/N: Written for the Critias zine for MediaWest 2010._


	37. Never Too Late for Christmas

**Never Too Late for Christmas**

John wheeled into the drive, put the car in park, and sat staring at the imposing entrance to his brother's home. Dave was so much like Dad – favoring formal over casual, form over substance, business over family. John shook his head. He wasn't being fair and he knew it. Dave wasn't the one who had missed Christmas.

He flicked his gaze over the house – two stories of gray stone and white metal-rimmed glass – and pity rose as he imagined his brother rambling around in almost four thousand square feet, alone. Was it pretension or had he dreamed of filling it with a family one day? John realized with a pang that he had no idea what Dave's dreams were. The brother he had grown up with, had spent summers racing around the lake house with, had teased and clung to and idolized, was now a stranger.

A curtain fluttered upstairs, and John knew there was no going back. After shutting off the engine, he grabbed the package on the passenger seat and got out, wincing as the still-healing scar on his right side shot little sparks of pain across his chest and back. He paused to get his breath and then gingerly eased his duffel bag onto his shoulder.

The front door opened before he could knock. Dave's face was devoid of emotion as he stood there, finally arching a brow at the gift wrapped in bright red and green. "Christmas is over."

John shifted under his stare. "Yeah, I know, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

"No." Dave's voice was sharp, and the corners of his eyes tightened with anger. "You didn't even call."

"I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped."

"Couldn't be helped?" The words echoed painfully against the stone. "Do you know how long I waited? I tried calling—" Dave closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "I guess you can't tell me where you were or why you didn't come."

Not anger. John narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. Fear. It was the same look McKay gave him after he pulled their asses out of the fire by almost getting himself killed. Why hadn't he seen it before? Had he ever looked? Would he have recognized it? After all, McKay's look had the added bonus of a tirade that left no doubt about how he felt. Dave, on the other hand, was a Sheppard.

"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm really sorry." Dave's gaze flew upward, eyes wide with surprise as John continued, "I can't tell you what happened and I can't explain why no one got in touch with you. I can't even promise that it won't happen again. But I would've been here if I could, and I sincerely apologize if I worried you."

_And if you spent Christmas alone, in this big empty house._

John straightened, chin lifted, under Dave's scrutiny. He couldn't blame his brother for being skeptical. The day they had spent together after their dad's funeral had been a bridge – a shaky, narrow wooden one with fragile planks and big gaps – between two headstrong men who harbored a lot of hurt and resentment. John had gone back to his life in Atlantis afterward and Dave to his life running the family business. They traded emails. John sent photos of his team and colleagues with bland backgrounds. Dave sent quarterly financials and newspaper clippings. The connection was tenuous at best, but it was there.

Then Atlantis arrived on Earth and the meetings determining her fate started. John wrote his reports and gave his opinion to anyone who would listen. When the IOA ordered another round of analysis, Teyla and Ronon hitched a ride home on the Daedalus. McKay volunteered to help reconstruct the data and technology that had been lost in the Wraith attack on Area 51. John was given his choice of assignments, and while a part of him was tempted to become Caldwell's XO – to keep in touch with Pegasus and maybe to irritate the colonel a little – he knew he was best suited for a gate team. Landry took it better than John had expected, though the team of misfits that made up SG-13 smacked of retribution.

John and Dave were finally on the same planet and yet worlds apart. Text messages went unanswered for weeks. Phone calls didn't happen. Plans fell through. Six months on Earth and they still hadn't managed to make time to get together. On Dave's birthday, John had been in tense negotiations with a tribal leader who had taken offense at Lieutenant Margold's tattoo. At Thanksgiving, Dave had been in Moscow at a symposium on global sustainability. And Christmas….

John sighed and grimaced as his side pulled again. "So, can I come in?"

"What?" The words seemed to pull Dave from his own walk down memory lane. "Oh, yeah, of course." He stepped back and held the door open wide. "Come on in."

John moved past him, scanning the foyer and huge den on instinct. The fancy alarm control panel was new. So were the security cameras along the vaulted ceiling and the motion detectors in every corner. A thin layer of dust covered the top of the Renoir's frame. The hardwoods were dull. A half-eaten carton of lo mein sat next to a bottle of beer on the table next to the sofa that was laden with blankets and newspapers.

"What's wrong?" John asked, dropping his bag by the antique curio cabinet and setting the gift on top.

Dave avoided his gaze as he cleared off a spot on the sofa. "Nothing."

"When did you become such a terrible liar?"

"I am an excellent liar."

John snorted and took a seat. "Maybe in the board room or at a poker table, but right now, you're really sucking at it." He picked up the bottle and wiped at the condensation with his thumb. "You don't drink beer."

"Maybe I started."

"When? Right after you fired the housekeeper and cook? Or maybe it was when you installed the Fort Knox security in here." John waved a hand at the cameras overhead.

When Dave headed to the wet bar in the corner, John noticed with a frown that all the decanters were empty. His brother was a social drinker, careful to never overindulge, following their father's principle of always having the clearest head in the room. Dave preferred wine over liquor, and had an impressive collection of rare vintages. John had sent him a disguised bottle of Athosian ruus wine last Christmas and had spent the past twelve months dodging questions on where the exquisite beverage had come from.

"I had some trouble a while back," Dave said, a fresh beer in hand. "Minor stuff. Nothing I can't handle." He swapped bottles with John and plopped on the sofa, taking a long swig before laying his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Not buying it, are you?"

"Nope." John sipped his beer and waited. Life with Ronon had taught him a new level of patience.

Dave rolled the bottle between his thumb and forefinger, and then set it on the table and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stared at the far wall. "The threats started about the time Dad died."

"That was almost two years ago!"

"I know." Dave glanced at him then away. "We get cranks all the time because of the business, from tree-huggers upset that we're building coal power plants to displaced homeowners and small businesses who had to move because of imminent domain proclamations." His smile was quick and bitter. "It's the price of progress. I have a file cabinet filled with letters." His head dropped lower. "Including some death threats."

"Oh, God," John breathed. "Dad?"

Dave shook his head. "No, he'd had heart problems for years. The doctors warned him to cut down on the booze and rich food, but…."

John laughed softly. "I bet the chef at Marcel's was devastated when he died."

"He sent a massive flower arrangement and his best bottle of wine." Dave's grin faded. "Dad would have loved it."

"Why didn't you say something to me at the funeral?"

"I had other things on my mind, John." Dave raked his fingers through his hair and pushed to his feet, pacing in a slow circle. "Besides, I didn't take the threats seriously. Like I said, we get them all the time. I reported them like I always do, stuffed them in a drawer and went on. I had the board breathing down my neck about a merger, and the economy was getting rocky." He whirled, arms held wide. "There was nothing special about these threats. Just random mutterings from some nut who promised that wrath would rain down. He signed them 'Mother Nature.'"

"The police couldn't track them?"

"Nothing to track – no specifics, just a lot of ranting about pollution and raping the land. I've had harsher words tossed at me at investor meetings."

"What changed?"

"About a year ago, he started including news clippings of me at charity events." Dave slumped in a chair with a sigh. "And then he left a dead cat and a note on Sonya's car, promising the same would happen to her if she continued to associate with me."

"Sonya?"

Dave's eyes flicked to John's. "My fiancée. Or she used to be."

"Oh." He hadn't known Dave was even dating anyone. "What happened?"

"I hired a bodyguard for her and installed a state-of-the-art security system at her apartment, but I guess the stress of not knowing when or if he would strike got to her." Dave blew out a breath, his jaw working as emotion flickered on his face. "We were at dinner about six months ago when some guy who'd had way too much to drink stumbled into her. She just lost it – shaking and crying, screaming like he'd stabbed her. The police came. The guy was some college kid celebrating his twenty-first birthday. When she finally calmed down, she handed me her ring and walked out. I haven't seen her since."

"Man, I'm really sorry. I know it hurts."

"When Nancy left—"

"Don't go there."

Dave sat up straight and looked him in the eye. "I heard what Dad said to you. He was wrong, John."

John's chest tightened as the memory of that day returned, vivid and vicious. Words had been flung like the lethal daggers they were, severing the last thread of connection between him and Dad. John had stormed from his father's home, dizzy with rage and hurt, berating himself for expecting anything resembling sympathy, never to return.

Until the funeral.

"I have something you need to see," Dave said as he crossed the room and disappeared down the hall. He returned with a stack of envelopes in his hand. "I found these when I cleaned out Dad's house. I wasn't sure how to get them to you without exposing your private matters." He traced his fingers over the top envelope. "Turns out he was a hell of a letter writer. He left some for me, too."

John took the stack, oddly moved to see his name in his father's strong handwriting. He flipped it over and gently unsealed it, pulling out a couple of tri-folded pages that were turning yellow with age.

January 5, 1968

Dear John Patrick Sheppard,

Welcome, my son…

John gaped at Dave. "He wrote this the day I was born."

"I know. He did the same for me."

"There are…" John shuffled through the stack. "…seventeen letters here."

"Most likely from the big events – when Mom died, high school and college graduation, that kind of thing."

"Why didn't he give them to us?" John opened the last one and sucked in a breath. It was dated two days before his father had died.

Dave squeezed his shoulder as he moved past to reclaim his seat. "Probably for the same reason he had to write it down instead of saying it." He laughed. "Dad could talk all day long in front of a room full of strangers, but he got as tongue-tied as you or me when it came to how he felt on a personal level."

When the sorrow in his chest threatened to overflow, John folded the letters and replaced them in their envelopes, tucking them in his bag to read later, alone. "So." He cleared the lump from his throat and tried again. "So, I take it the police still haven't caught this kook."

"No. They're taking the threats seriously, but they haven't been able to trace anything to him. The paper is generic. The postmark is from the main office in DC, and too many people are in and out of there for him to stand out. No fingerprints and no saliva for DNA." Dave sighed. "Nothing. So, I gave my household help an indefinite paid leave, had a new alarm system put in, hired a guard for the front gate."

"How long are you planning on living like this?"

"For as long as it takes. I'll protect myself and the people I care about as much as I can, but I'm not letting that maniac dictate how I run my business. One day he'll slip up, the cops will catch him, and life will return to normal." Dave leaned forward with a grin. "Enough of that. Are you hungry? There's a new Tex-Mex place that opened a couple of weeks ago. The salsa will burn the taste buds right off your tongue."

Considering some of the food Teyla and Ronon had subjected John to over the years, it was a miracle he had any taste buds left. "I've been dying for decent enchiladas. The Mexican food in Colorado leaves a lot to be desired."

"You'll love this place." Dave pulled his coat on and grabbed his keys. "The head chef came from San Antonio."

John's mouth watered as he followed Dave to the garage. "It was a sad day when I left Lackland."

They kept the conversation light, discussing the NFL playoffs, Stanford's loss to OU in the Sun Bowl, and whether the Orioles had any chance of beating the hated Yankees. The food was as delicious as Dave had promised. After three bowls of chips and two cups of queso, a platter of sour cream chicken enchiladas with rice and beans, and a sopapilla smothered in honey, along with two massive margaritas, John was in a food coma. When they returned to Dave's house, John mumbled a goodnight and headed to the guest room, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

John had no idea what woke him a few hours later. He sat up, disoriented, reaching for a gun that wasn't there in a nightstand that wasn't his. He brushed a clock that read 3:41 and bumped a lamp that teetered but didn't fall. He froze, listening, but other than the scrape of branches against his window, the house was silent. He lay down, closed his eyes, depending on years of military action and inaction to get him to sleep.

His instincts wouldn't allow it.

As he rolled out of bed, he told himself he was being ridiculous, that Dave's stories of a crazed stalker had gotten under his skin. He felt like an idiot as he skulked down the hall in his t-shirt and drawstring pants, certain he was about to scare the crap out of his brother, but his instincts had pulled his butt out of the fire more times than he could count and he wasn't about to start discounting them now. He wished he had a weapon, even a baseball bat. Too bad he'd never convinced Ronon to help him find one of those cool blasters.

A muffled thud from downstairs made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. John paused at the top of the staircase and peered into the darkness below. Nothing. He closed his eyes, calmed his heart, and _listened _with his entire body.

There. A scrape of leather on stone – the tread of a man trying to move silently, not something Dave would worry about. Someone was in the house.

John crept into Dave's room, clamping a hand over his brother's mouth.

Dave's eyes flew open, and his body tensed.

John held a finger to his lips and whispered, "There's someone in the house. Do you have a gun?"

"In the safe." Dave bobbed his head toward his closet.

"Get it."

Dave hopped out of bed and disappeared into the closet, returning a moment later with a .45 and two clips. "I've been to the gun range a couple of times. I'm a pretty good shot."

"I'm a really good one." John loaded the gun and thumbed off the safety. "Stay here. Call 911."

Dave grabbed John's arm. "I'm not letting you go out there alone."

"Look, this isn't some tree hugger. You said the police couldn't find a shred of evidence from almost two years of letters. Now, someone has broken in without setting off your high tech security system." John disentangled himself from Dave's grip. "These are pros."

"Then I'm sure as hell not letting you go alone. This is my house and my life. I'm not going to sit back and let my little brother fight my fight for me."

"Oh, yes you are." John leaned in, letting a little drill sergeant growl into his whisper. "This is what I do, and I'm damn good at it. You don't have combat training. Can you really pull this trigger and end a man's life without hesitating?"

"Can you?"

"Yes." John watched the battle in Dave's eyes, giving his best Ronon glare until his brother backed down with a nod. "Now, call 911 and stay—"

A floorboard creaked outside the door.

John shoved Dave in the closet and closed it. The bedroom doorknob turned. John waited for the door to swing open. When a black-clad leg appeared, John lunged, slamming the door into his target. The man grunted and staggered back. John whipped the door open and pulled his opponent inside, tossing him to the floor.

"Surprise." John wrapped his arms around the man's neck and squeezed until he slumped, unconscious. The only weapon he carried was a taser. John jerked the closet door open and handed the taser to his wide-eyed brother. "Just in case. Now, stay here until I come back."

Without waiting for a reply, John closed the door and used the zip-ties the intruder was carrying to cuff him. John dumped him in Dave's bed, pulled up the sheet to mask his identity, and headed to the stairs. He crept cautiously down, moving as Ronon had taught him to prevent his bare feet from making noise on the stone and wood as he crossed the foyer and headed toward the den.

Fabric rustled to his left, and John brought his gun to ready, eyes and ears straining. A shadow in the corner separated from the others. John fired. The muzzle flash lit his target for a second. A large man also dressed in black clutched his chest, his mouth open in a scream that was lost in the echoing gunshot.

John caught movement to his right and wheeled, but not in time. Someone large and heavy smashed into his right side, directly on his still-healing wound. John's world was reduced to white noise as pain exploded through his chest and back. The gun flew from his grip. John rolled to his hands and knees, scrabbling toward the wall and the light switch.

A hand latched onto John's ankle. He kicked, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage under his heel. The hand let go, and John was on his feet, one hand on his side and the other swatting the wall.

Light flooded the room. His opponent flinched away from it, and John ran, praying that Dave had managed to call the cops. John skidded into the open game room and smiled when he spotted the pool cues. He snapped one neatly in half, twirled it through his fingers, and headed back.

The big man who had tackled him was holding a broken nose with one hand and snarling into a radio with the other. His eyes went wide when he saw John swinging the halves of the cue, and he stumbled backward, fumbling for his weapon.

John knocked the taser from his hand with a strike and doubled him over with another. Before he could land a knockout blow, the guy twisted away and landed in a fighting stance.

"Don't make me kill you," John said. "Give up now."

"You must be Baby Sheppard." The man wiped the blood from his nose on the back of his sleeve. "We were beginning to think you'd never come back."

"If I'd known you were looking for me, I would've come sooner."

The man reached for his pocket, and John whacked him with a stick. His opponent gasped and clutched his badly bruised, possibly fractured arm.

"The police are on the way. You might as well give up now."

"I don't think so." The man shifted, and a thin metal bar appeared in his hand. "Let's see if you're as good as you think you are."

John blocked the overhand blow and struck. The man turned so the hit caught his back, and slammed his heel backward into John's knee. In a flurry of thrusts and attacks that would've made Teyla proud, John drove his opponent across the room, missing a lethal blow to the skull by millimeters. The man ducked and smashed his weapon into John's injured side.

Ignoring the warm, sticky trickle spreading across his ribs and down to his hip, John spun, whipping the sticks against the man's temples and then his throat. The guy dropped with a gurgle.

"Stop," a voice commanded from the stairs.

John glanced up, and his heart sank. A fourth man had Dave in a chokehold, a gun to his temple. Blood dribbled down his brother's face, and a rage John had rarely experienced pounded through him. "Let him go. I'm the one you want."

The man jammed the gun against the base of Dave's neck and prodded him forward. "That's where you're wrong. We want both of you."

"Why?" John asked.

"Shut up and move." Fourth Guy shoved Dave until they reached the first floor.

John's mind was racing as he tried to stall. "Where are we going?"

Fourth Guy smacked Dave in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Dave slumped to his knees with a groan and froze when the man pressed the gun to his head. "The contract is for both of you. Dead doesn't pay as much, but I'll take the cut if you force me to. Now, move."

John moved as ordered, his eyes never leaving Dave's. His brother frowned, flicked his gaze to the ground, and back up to John. Then he did it again. Schooling his features, John casually glanced down. Dave's .45 was behind the leg of the sofa, the grip peeking out from under the heavy gold brocade. John staggered a step, then another, and dropped to his knee, pressing his right hand to his side and making a show of displaying the blood that was smeared on his fingers.

"My God," Dave said.

Fourth Guy's attention shifted from John to Dave for a split second, but that was all John needed. He grabbed the gun, raising and firing it in one swift motion. The shot landed squarely between the man's eyes. His body jerked and fell. Dave scrambled away, staring in shock at the dead man and the spatter on the wall.

John zip-tied the man he'd beaten and then checked the other guy he'd shot. Unconscious and bleeding heavily, but alive. "Did you call 911?"

Dave blinked at him. "What?"

"This guy needs an ambulance. Did you call 911?"

"Um…." Dave clenched his eyes shut and held his hand to his head. "No. I was trying to get to the phone when he," Dave glanced at the body, "found me."

John made the call then knelt at his brother's side, swatting his hand away. "The cops and ambulance are on the way."

Dave exhaled and sat still while John probed gently at the bruise on his temple and the knot on the back of his head. Dave hissed but didn't pull away.

John studied his brother's eyes. "You'll need a doctor to check you out, but I don't think you have a concussion."

Dave's look was blank, hollow.

"I think you need a drink." John grunted when he stood, grimacing as pain rippled along his side.

Dave's gaze sharpened. "You're hurt. Sit down."

"I'll be fine."

"Sit."

John's body obeyed automatically. "Damn. When did you learn to channel Grandma Jo?"

"When I became Director of US Operations." Dave got a bottle of water and a towel from the wet bar. "Let me see."

John pulled up his shirt to reveal the bleeding wound on his side.

"Holy God, John. What the hell happened?"

Maybe it was the gentleness of his brother's shaking hands washing the blood away. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving his system or the margaritas or the lack of sleep. For whatever reason, John's normal dodges just wouldn't come.

"Got shot. Bullet nicked my kidney. Had to have surgery."

Dave's hands stilled. "Is that why you weren't here for Christmas?"

"Yeah." John sighed, trying not to think about how close he'd been to bleeding out or how basic the hospital had been on P7T-594.

"Why wasn't I notified that you'd been injured?" Dave flushed and looked away. "Oh."

"Oh? What does that mean?"

Dave blotted John's side. "It's still bleeding. You must have ripped something inside."

"Wouldn't be the first time," John said. "I was wounded on a mission. Sometimes things can't go through normal channels."

"So, if something happened, something… bad, they'd let me know." Dave's voice wobbled but his gaze was steady, locked on John's. "Right?"

"All of your contact info is on my next-of-kin form." John gripped his brother's shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "But don't worry about that. I work with some of the best people on the planet. I'll be fine."

Dave traced the scars left by Michael's falling building and a hiveship in the making. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Didn't say there wouldn't be a few close calls." John tugged his shirt into place as sirens filled the air. "Open the front door and keep your hands visible."

Dave switched on the outside lights, opened the door and took a seat next to John. Minutes later, the house was filled with police and EMTs. John handed over his gun and answered every question lobbed at him while the paramedics cleansed and bandaged his side.

"We need to get you to the hospital, sir," the medic said. "You're bleeding internally. It should heal on its own, but you should have a doctor monitor it just to be sure."

"I don't—"

"He'll be happy to go with you," Dave said, pulling John to his feet. "I'll finish up with the police and meet you there."

John glared even as he followed the paramedic outside. "Did you check his head? He got hit pretty hard. Twice."

The EMT helped John into the back. "Other than a world-class headache, he'll be fine."

John repressed a sigh and endured the trip down the twisting drive and past the guard house where a body was being loaded into the coroner's van. After a short ride through town, John was escorted to a bed. A nurse took his personal information, hooked him up to a monitor, and pulled the curtain.

About an hour later, Dave peeked around the curtain. "What did the doctor say?"

"Haven't seen one yet."

Dave's face turned to stone in a perfect imitation of their father's, and he strode away. John would've felt sorry for the doctor if his chest wasn't hurting so bad. A minute later, Dave returned with a doctor in tow.

"I'm sorry for the wait, Mr. Sheppard—"

"_Colonel_ Sheppard," Dave corrected. "My brother is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force."

"Yes, of course. _Colonel _Sheppard. I'm Doctor Pangee." He frowned at John's bloody shirt and pressed the call button. "Let's have a listen, shall we?"

John rolled his eyes, wishing for Carson or Keller or Lam as the doctor touched the cold bell of his stethoscope to John's side. Pangee clucked and tutted as he listened, ordering the harried nurse who scurried up to get John in a clean gown and then have him poked, prodded and scanned.

Once the last scan was done, John was wheeled back to his ER cubbyhole. Dave was sprawled in a chair, lines of exhaustion and stress etched on a face that was as pale as the bandage on his temple. He sat up, blinking blearily, while the orderlies parked the gurney and reattached John to the monitor.

"Well?" Dave asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Gotta wait for the results. The tech said it would be a couple of hours."

Dave shook his head. "I hope you're not dying."

John laughed at his deadpan tone. "That makes two of us." He wiggled deeper into the thin mattress. "Think any of those guys will confess as to who put out a contract on us?"

"I doubt it, but I'm pretty sure I already know."

"Really? Who?"

"LaRoche."

John pushed up on an elbow. "Dad's attorney? Why?"

"Dad had a safe in his office that requires both of us to open. Some kind of biological lock on it."

"What's in the safe?"

Dave shrugged. "I have no idea. I didn't even know he had it until LaRoche read the will. He seemed as surprised about it as I was. He must think there's something really valuable in there."

"More valuable than our lives." John lay back and stared at the ceiling. "Did you tell the cops?"

"Yeah. They said they'd look into it."

John made a mental note to give General O'Neill a call later. The SGC had a couple of devices he wanted to borrow that would beat anything the police had. "So, what did you get me for Christmas?"

Dave folded his arms over his chest. "Superbowl tickets."

"The Superbowl was last week."

"I know. Guess you shouldn't have been late."

John narrowed his eyes. "What did you really get me?"

"I really got you Superbowl tickets. I gave them to my secretary and her boyfriend when you didn't show up. She's a big Saints fan."

"Well, I guess I'll have to give her the wine I brought you."

Dave straightened, and his eyes lit up. "The same kind you sent me last year?"

"Yeah, but this one is an older vintage." John grinned as his brother squirmed in his chair.

"You wouldn't really give my Christmas present away."

"You gave mine away."

"Because it had a time limit on it." Dave sighed. "And I might have donated some funds in your name to Mom's foundation."

John sat up, all humor vanishing. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Dave glanced down at his hands. "I do every year."

Suddenly choked up, John could only blink away the dampness in his eyes and settle back in his bed. "Thanks, Dave. I mean it. Thanks."

"You're welcome, John. Merry Christmas a little late."

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to kristen999 for the beta._


End file.
